


rhabdophobia and wiccaphilia

by nantes (titians)



Series: we are magic talking to itself; noisy and alone [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Fashion Model RPF, One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Discussions of Underage Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titians/pseuds/nantes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The <strike>sacred</strike> <strike>profane</strike> <strike>subjective</strike> <strike>selfish</strike> personal history of Hogwarts kids from various houses seven years in the making; in the water, on the land and sometimes in the air, the big events and the little ones. (Because birds of a feather always flock together, regardless of house colours.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	rhabdophobia and wiccaphilia

**Author's Note:**

> tbh everyone was gonna be in slytherin but nick grimshaw decided to be the ravenclawiest ravenclaw to ever ravenclaw and suddenly everyone was in different houses. basically: sorry. especially to [liv](http://zouweeds.tumblr.com), [rosie](http://clarions.tumblr.com) and [lamb](http://terecita.tumblr.com).

> “ _A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest, Granny Weatherwax had once told her, because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her._ ” **P R A T C H E T T**
> 
> “ _Be humble for you are made of earth; be noble for you are made of stars._ ” **S E R B I A N  P R O V E R B**

 

 

_O N C E_  
U P O N  
A  
T I M E 

 

 

The Sorting Hat booms out, "Ravenclaw."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Harry is pretty sure the only reason Nick and Gemma talk to him is because he shares a dormitory with Nick. That, and it's easy to make fun of him without him realising straight away. At least, he thinks they're making fun of him; sometimes, he can't tell. ( _Really_. The first time Nick is nice to him − actually nice to him − Harry pulls back from him with a frown and asks, "What do you want?" which makes Gemma laugh loud enough for the entire hall to hear.)

He can't work out where he really fits with them.

Nick and Gemma have known one another since forever. Two little pureblood children forced on play dates together under great duress but quickly discovering that they actually had a lot in common − like wicked smart barbed tongues and the dirtiest, huskiest laughs Harry has heard from two eleven year olds in his life.

(Somewhere along the way, between their fourth birthdays and now, Gemma's mum started dating Nick's dad. Harry learns quickly that they don't like to talk about that. All he gets from Nick is, "I'm pretty sure the rumours she killed her last husband are true." while from Gemma, "They're threatening to move in together. I'm trying to work out how to subtly move in with my aunt.")

Of course, he could make other friends.

According to his mum, Harry has one of those faces that people like. He isn't entirely sure what she means, but he thinks it's a good thing. Other people always seem to come up to him and ask if they can sit next to him or borrow his notes, not exactly fighting each other for the privilege but, yeah, Harry could easily make other friends.

Then, one day quite close to the Christmas holidays, Nick levitates a cup of tea across the table to Harry, not lifting his eyes from the book he's reading, while Gemma taps the point of her quill off the wood of the table as she reads over Harry's essay on the twelve uses of dragon's blood, Harry decides he's perfectly happy with them.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

In Potions, there's a boy named Zayn. A Slytherin with dark eyes and equally dark hair who ends up being Harry's partner because there are an odd number of Slytherins and an odd number of Ravenclaws and, of course, Nick and Gemma sat down beside one another before Harry could get the question out.

Harry can't work out if Zayn actually likes him or not − much like he couldn't work out if Nick and Gemma actually liked him but Harry thinks Zayn is harder to read again than they were − but, since his mum always told him to be polite, he smiles at Zayn every time he walks into class and always says, "See you again," at the end of class.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

For his birthday, Harry gets a model Spitfire airplane kit from his grandfather.

Nick and Gemma watch him assemble it in the common room, pretending they aren't every time he looks up. It makes something warm roll in the middle of his belly when he catches them, the subtle ways they care about him, but he stays quiet as he carefully glues the target sticker down on the side of the plane.

The next time he looks up, Nick is blatantly staring at him. (Gemma has her nose in a book, genuinely engrossed in it, so Harry presumes she's given up caring about what he's doing.) "What?" he asks. The breath of his words sends the thin layer of plastic he needs to attach as the windshield fluttering across the table. Nick catches it and puts it back down in front of him.

"Why are you making a plane?"

"Because." It's a suitable answer, Harry feels. "My granddad gave it to me."

"Why?"

Harry rolls his eyes, fondly, and answers, "Because he thought I'd like it."

Nick continues, "And do you?"

"I guess."

They fall into silence and a group of fourth year girls walk passed. One of them, a redhead with the boniest knees Harry has ever seen, knocks against the table. When he grabs the plane, to stop it falling, he gets camouflage green paint all over his palms. A bit of white spirits takes it off and when Harry looks up, Nick has his mouth open like he's about to say something, maybe mention a spell that would have washed it away but he stays quiet. Oddly, Harry appreciates the gesture.

"I used to make them with him. Sometimes," he tells him, screwing the cap back onto the bottle. "Back home."

Nick wrinkles his nose, confused but interested. He leans in closer, the front of his sweater brushing the edge of the table. He asks, "Do lots of muggle families make planes together?"

Harry laughs, more to himself than at Nick. He supposes it's a standard question; Nick is from a pureblood family and while the relationship between non-magic and magic folk has gotten better since the war and the defeat of the Dark Lord, there are still a lot of things that need to be worked on. Plus, Nick is eleven and if you can't ask questions like that at eleven years old, when can you ask them? He knows what a plane is, having obviously read a book about them at some point, but doesn't know about muggle family traditions.

He sucks in a breath, puffing his chest out with it, and answers, "Yeah. It's not weird, anyway. My dad used to do it with him as well."

Nick nods. He doesn't push for anything further.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Harry kicks a pebble into the Great Lake. It's warm, deceptively so for April in the UK and Harry hopes that the heat doesn't give up and die before July hits. He wants to go swimming, both in Summer proper and now.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

Gemma says it as he steps closer to the water. He turns his head and looks at her over his shoulder. "You don't want to disturb the squid."

Harry frowns.

"There isn't actually a squid in there." He hopes he puts enough disdain in it to counter the perfect arch of her eyebrow. "They can't put a monster in the water where children are − that's a total safety hazard."

Gemma sighs, "Oh, really?" He nods, authoritatively. Gemma's eyebrow remains arched and a smirk spreads across her mouth. Harry wishes Nick was here. He'd back him up. Even if there was a giant squid in the lake, Nick would back Harry up purely to annoy Gemma. She says, "And why are you calling it a monster?"

He stutters. Another pebble rolls into the water. "Because-"

"Because it can do magical things?" Harry blinks and looks away from her face. As much as he likes Gemma, she can be a bitch when she wants to. (Then again, Harry thinks she might actually be trying to be honest in this circumstance, not aiming for mean.) "Because you don't understand it?" Harry stays quiet, standing there while she sits under a tree, her finger marking her place in her book. "There is a giant squid in that lake, no more of a monster than you or I. But you shouldn't disturb it."

"Why?" he asks, finally regaining his voice.

"How would you like it if someone kicked rocks at your home?"

Harry lets his shoulders sag. She has a point there. Lifting his head, he accepts defeat and lets Gemma return to her book.

A clutch of students walk passed them, further up the hill. In their midst is Zayn, hands in his pockets and head nodding in agreement with whatever the Slytherin next to him − Harry thinks he remembers hearing Zayn calling him Danny − just said. Harry waves to him, calling out, "Hey, Zayn." He wasn't expecting a wave back, pleasantly surprised when he gets one. Zayn doesn't stop though, continuing on back towards the school with the others and shoving his hand back inside his pockets.

Smiling, Harry jogs the few steps to Gemma and sits himself down beside her on the grass. She doesn't look up.

"So," he begins but she keeps reading. "What else is in the lake?"

Without taking her eyes off the page, she answers, "Merpeople. A kelpie or two, I think."

"Really?"

Groaning, Gemma rolls her eyes and turns to face him. "Yes. There is a colony of merpeople and a giant squid and maybe a kelpie or two in that lake. Some grindylows, as well. Now, do you have any other questions or can I get back to reading, please?"

Harry prods her in the cheek, just because.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

In August, Nick and his dad move into Gemma's house. The two letters − delivered by owls, his sister nearly has a heart attack at breakfast when they arrive together, tapping on the kitchen window with their beaks at 8am − he receives are a source of endless amusement to Harry. Neither one of them seems thrilled by the idea and, according to the second letter she sends him, Gemma hasn't found a way to run to her aunt's house yet.

In some weird act of dominance, Gemma asks Harry to theirs for Christmas, beating Nick to the punch. (He'll still be there, but Harry is coming as Gemma's friend. Harry feels sort of like a piece of meat being fought over by dogs but, in an odd way, it's kind of a compliment.)

Harry stops on the stairs, gasping at the Arterton family crest on the wall in front of him.

"Has your family always lived here?" he asks, dragging his bag up the stone steps behind him. His trainers, squashed at the bottom of his bag, underneath presents and a sweater with Rudolph on the front, bang off each step in turn.

At the top of the stairs, Gemma shrugs. "I don't think so − it used to be a church before, back in the 1800s. My family only moved in during Queen Victoria's reign."

Harry can't help thinking that is the most awesome thing on the planet. A family of Victorian witches moving into a refurbished castle, a beautifully secular and sacrilegious turn of events.

"Has that swan got a crown around its neck?"

" _His_ neck," Nick corrects, appearing from one of the rooms in the corridor. Harry beams at the sight of him, thinking about the model plane in his bag he went and picked − with his granddad's help − just for him. "It's a queen's crown around a cobb's neck and I'm telling you this before Gemma can start on and on about how the Artertons are a line of matriarchs and bore you to death with it."

She kicks him in the shin so quickly and smoothly Harry nearly misses it. Nick hiss out something he doesn't catch and Gemma smirks and smirks and smirks at him until her face hurts with it. "Better than your family history, snake killer."

Harry stares back and forth between the two of them.

"What?" he says, drawing out the vowel and clipping the t with his tongue.

With Nick glaring at the side of her head, Gemma states, "Nick's family are descended from Sir John Grimshaw, who killed the black snake of Ooze Wood and married the beautiful woman who came tumbling out of the creatures belly when he cut it open after hearing her crying."

Harry's face gets confused, stuck trying to look disgusted and delighted all at once. The most interesting thing about the Styles family − before him, since having a wizard in the family is very interesting − are the Nazi bullets still lodged in his granduncle's arm. Marrying a girl you've just cut out of a giant snake, well, that's sort of brilliant, isn't it? And gross − Harry can't imagine that the contents of a snake's stomach is what you want your bride to be covered in.

"Is that true?"

"Probably about as true as the story that the first Arterton daughter was born from the union of a nun and the Devil," Nick says, continuing to stare at Gemma.

Harry can't help beaming.

Gemma gives him a shove in the ribs, fingers poking into the spaces between his ribs. "C'mon," she orders. Harry stumbles forwards a step. "We'll show you where you're sleeping."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

"What's your family like, then?" Nick asks, later, when Gemma's gone off to sleep in her own bed while it seems Nick has no plans on moving off the guest bed any time tonight. Harry blinks at him twice. "You're the first one with magic, yeah?" He nods. "So, how did that go down?"

It's a simple question.

Yet-

All Harry can think of are Gemma's words from the lake that day. How people label things with magic, things with powers and abilities they don't understand as monsters.

He shakes his head.

"They're. You know. Average. Mum read all of _Hogwarts: A History_ when I got my letter. And my sister's always been good with it."

Nick knows not to mention Harry's dad. Harry appreciates his silence.

On top of the covers their hands find each other and Harry can't tell if he's the one reaching for Nick or the other way around. Their palms press together and Harry sighs. He hears the smile in Nick's voice as he says, "After you, your kids will be purebloods, you know? There just always has to be a muggle first − to give birth to the child with magic. Like Gemma's nun ancestor."

"And the guy who killed the snake in your family," Harry agrees.

Nick sleeps there, on top of the duvet with Harry under it until 6am when Gemma trots into the room, hair ruffled and sticking out at odd angles from tossing and turning on the pillow, and tells them, "You should probably come down to get breakfast. Mum's in one of her moods."

On his way down the stairs, Harry lingers a moment to stare at the Arterton crest. A swan, with a queen's crown collaring his throat. One day, he thinks to himself, he's gonna have a house with his family crest on the wall and a bunch of witch and wizard grandkids running around. He smiles to himself, thinking of names for them all, but he must linger too long for the other two, because Gemma's hand tangles with his as she sighs, dragging him down the steps after her with a 'you can stare at my house later'.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Most of second year is taken up with discussions about not discussing the impending Arterton-Grimshaw wedding − other than Niall Horan tripping in the Great Hall and pouring an entire goblet of water down Gemma's back, causing her to rise up from her seat with a shriek and glare at him until he slunk away, apologising with every step − and very little else. Neither Nick nor Gemma seem too enthused by the idea of becoming fully fledged siblings but Harry doesn't see what the big deal is. They are already connected at the hip − "I say it with love, you know I don't mind tagging along after you two." − and have been finished each other's sentences since before Harry was around. But, no. According to those two, it's the end of the world.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Harry gets an invite to the wedding, with a plus one. Since he's only thirteen (and since he's met their parents, so he should introduce his to them) he brings his mum. She fusses with his tie for the whole train journey but he lets her at it − this _is_ her first time to the magic side of London, about to be thrown into the midst of multiple pureblood families.

Nick meets them at the doors of the church and tells them, "Take a seat on the groom's side."

At the reception, Gemma finally dashes over to them − ignoring her grandmother yelling, "Don't run, Gemma." − and says her hellos. "You must be Anne," she says, sticking out her hand for Harry's mum to shake. "I'm Gemma."

The look on his mum's face as Gemma shows them to their table is the calmest he has seen her since they woke up this morning. Once they're seated, she leans in and tells her son, "She seems nice. Nick too."

Harry beams proudly, unfolding his napkin. No one has asked him yet if he wants chicken or fish. (He's thirteen, all he knows about weddings comes from what he sees in films and in films everyone is always going on about the choice between chicken or fish.) He places his hands on the edge of the table, thumb brushing off the bottom of the knife.

When he looks up, he isn't expecting to see Zayn Malik smiling across the table at him but there he is.

"Oh."

"Hi," Zayn waves. "How are you?"

"Fine. Yeah." Harry stops, feeling himself frown as he thinks. "I didn't. Know you were invited."

Zayn nods. "Yeah," he answers, "Dad's friends with Gemma's mum; we were on the opposite side of the church to you." Pointing to the woman sitting next to him, he explains, "This is my mum."

Harry ends up poking his mum trying to explain the same to Zayn. She turns and looks at him. "Mum, this is Zayn. We sit together in Potions. And his mum-"

"Tricia," Zayn supplies. Harry smiles.

In the end, no one asks him if he wants chicken or fish. But Harry figures that's ok.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

There must be something in the water in the Slytherin dormitories because each and every one of Zayn's friends looks like a model. Harry even hears Nick's breath catch in his throat as he takes a seat beside one of them, and Gemma and Nick share a look that asks 'why haven't we noticed these guys before?'.

Harry just smiles and takes the seat beside Zayn.

"You didn't have to," he tells him.

Someone too large for the gap squeezes behind them, knocking Harry in the back with his elbow. It makes him wheeze.

Zayn's hand is solid and warm when he soothes his palm over the space between Harry's shoulders. "I didn't. Not really. But there are no other tables free and we have spare seats." He drops his hand. Harry misses it, the rest of the pub cold around them. "What are you drinking?" he asks.

Harry opens and closes his mouth, then opens it again while he thinks. They're thirteen, what can they get? "Whatever you're having," he answers, eventually. Maybe the magical world has different laws about underage drinking, he doesn't know.

"Butterbeer, best in Hogsmeade," Zayn trills out.

Harry goes with it.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

It rains the entire month of November. Rains and rains and rains, the windows of Ravenclaw tower rattling against the stone frames. 

The glass constantly beaten with the rain. 

It seems as if everyone but Harry gets used to it − he lies there at night with Nick snoring in his own four poster bed, one foot sticking out of the covers, hanging over the edge of the mattress, while Harry tries to sleep. He knows it isn't Nick's snoring keeping him awake.

One Saturday, so late it's probably early (Harry misses his clock from home, which is a weird thing to miss but there's something comforting about the way it glows out the time in green light across his room) and Harry has yet to fall asleep, he buries himself under the covers. Trying to block out the noise of the rain on the windows. Being under the covers doesn't help all that much, the noise still loud enough to bother him and now he has less air to breathe.

He comes out again gasping, the air sweeter than it was in his cocoon.

With a sigh, he rolls over. The duvet at his shoulder falls away, exposing his bare skin to the room but Harry is too tired to shiver, letting the feeling wash over him but never doing anything with it. His eyes close but he isn't hoping for miracles.

Out of everyone in Hogwarts, Harry feels he is most likely the only person awake. Bothered by the rain.

Perhaps there may be a few Gryffindors, up in their tower − tall but not the tallest in the castle − and maybe a scattering of Ravenclaws, first years who still haven't adjusted to boarding school and the combination of sleeping in a strange bed and the rain outside keeping them awake. But down. Down down down in the Slytherin dormitories, buried deep in the dungeons and under the lake, there is no rain clattering off the windows. No wind rattling the windowpanes against the mullions.

He thinks of Zayn, asleep and quiet in his bed. Harry thinks of Zayn and smiles to himself, rolling over and properly trying to go to sleep.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Harry wakes up with a jolt after Zayn gently shakes him, hand on his shoulder. A trail of drool connects him to the open book in front of him. He strokes his fingers down his cheek, feeling grooves from the page. Zayn's closed his own book by now and watches Harry with something akin to interest but maybe a bit fond too.

"Where're Gem and Nick?" he asks, voice slightly croaky from his nap.

They would never have woken him up (never do and Harry falls asleep in the library with alarming regularity).

Zayn nods over his shoulder. "Gemma's there. And I don't know where Nick is."

Still squinting with sleep, Harry looks towards the bookshelves Zayn pointed at and spots Gemma. She's blushing, the colour of it running across her nose as she bites her lip, stuttering back at giggle. The boy she's talking to is Francois, a fourth year Hufflepuff she has been moony eyed over since the beginning of term and he helped her pick up her books when she crashed ever so spectacularly into his back while rushing to get to Arithmancy. (In a glorious display of brotherly solidarity, Nick had thrown all his books and a quill on the ground as well but no one stopped to help him.)

If he's honest, Harry doesn't get it but there are very few things in the world that can make Gemma go all soft and giggly like that, so he lets it alone.

He turns back and finds Zayn reading over his Ancient Runes homework. Harry coughs and Zayn lifts his head.

"You know, Styles, you're not as dumb as you look."

Harry shakes his head but smiles. "Harhar," he sounds out.

"Really. Cos I was wondering what the Sorting Hat was thinking, you know? Sometimes in Potions-"

He snatches back the parchment before Zayn can get any further. With a clipped tone, he states, "I'm a little clumsy, not an idiot." Gemma's giggle is perfectly timed but sadly not for him. "And the Sorting Hat always has its reasons."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Nick comes away from the boggart shaking. Sure, he defeats it but- Gemma pulls him down beside her and tosses an arm around his shoulders, leaning in and whispering something to him. Harry wants to join them but he waits in the line for his turn. At the top of the line, the boggart turns into a moth but Harry can't see who is afraid of them.

Another four people and it's his turn.

The boggart flickers, like a television before the power cuts out and Harry waits.

He's expecting it to turn into his dad, to see that look of hurt and disgust across his face after Harry accidentally blew up the toaster. But that wasn't his fault. He didn't- he was six. How was he meant to know he had magic at six when the rest of them were just ordinary? It wasn't his fault. He isn't-

It shifts, slowly reforming itself into. Harry. But not Harry. Harry feels sick. The thing in front of him, the thing with his face that is both him and not him, smirks. It moves its hand and something crackles between its fingers like electricity.

His Riddikulus charm is weak, but a second one and the thing seems to melt.

Harry needs. He. Just has to go. At the end of class, he bolts before Gemma and Nick can catch up with him. He hears Gemma calling his name but Harry doesn't stop. She has Nick to worry about anyway (in fact, it is all three of them, silly little too smart Ravenclaws who don't fear normal things like spiders or zombies but fear much larger, deeper things but Gemma seems to be handling herself the best) and Harry really just. Needs to be alone.

He finds himself at the edge of the lake when he stops. It's later in the afternoon than he was expecting, the sun already low above the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Shrugging his robes tighter around him, Harry kicks a pebble into the lake.

"Harry," he hears a voice call out. Zayn gallops down the hill towards him, stopping a few steps away as Harry turns to look at him. "They said you'd be here."

He lets himself have a small smile at that, that they sent Zayn when he wouldn't talk to them himself.

"Said you ran off after Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"I didn't run; I walked," Harry corrects. "I needed some air."

Zayn gives him a smile but Harry doesn't return it. "And how is it?" he asks.

"What?"

"The air." Harry passes him a shrug and Zayn takes a step closer. "They told me what happened − that the boggart turned into you." Zayn stops, taking a breath. Harry doesn't have anything to say. "I'm not gonna ask you to talk about it. Boggarts are dickbags anyway."

It gets a laugh out of him, Harry staring down at his shoes, his shoulders rolling with it. "Yeah, they are. Nick wasn't too good after his encounter with it either."

"What did it take form into for him?"

Harry wets the corner of his mouth with his tongue, licking at a cut that isn't there. "A mirror. All of us reflected back in it, but he wasn't there."

Zayn says, "You lot are messed up."

"What did the boggart become for you then?" Harry snaps it out. It's mean, a little more than Zayn deserves but Harry needs to throw the focus back onto him, away from himself. He watches Zayn struggle with his answer and he's almost ready to take the question back when Zayn tells him:

"Water. A wave, washing towards me." He admits, "I can't swim."

Harry nods.

He offers, "I'm scared. Of what my magic could do − I used to blow things up when I was younger. By accident. Only sometimes. When I got really upset." He gives himself a second. In front of him, Zayn worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Once, I made the toaster blow up and a bit of it scratched across my sister's face. My dad looked at me like I was- a freak. This monster who could blow everything up and kill everyone. The cut didn't even scar but I remember feeling so horrible and. _Bad_. Like maybe he was right, that I am a freak. This awful thing with powers they don't understand."

Zayn lets his lip drop from his mouth. He says, "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Harry waits.

"To understand what you can do. To learn how to control it."

Somewhere back in the Ravenclaw tower, Harry pictures Gemma with her arm around Nick's shoulder. Looser than it was in the classroom but there all the same, reassuring as she lets her fingers fiddle with his shirt collar at the back of his neck. She would probably say something similar to Harry, Nick too if he had gone with them. But, for whatever reason, Harry feels he could only believe it coming from Zayn.

He shrugs. "I guess."

Because he's looking down, he misses the smile that spreads across Zayn's face, accentuating his cheekbones underneath his skin.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Two weeks until Summer Holidays. Harry has been counting off the days. It's been getting warmer and warmer every week. Even the Whomping Willow seems to have calmed down as July edges closer.

On Thursday, they all head out to sit on the grass, finishing off the last few essays for classes and reading over the last chapters of books, half-revision and half-the last thing they're going to learn as third years. In his lap sits Zayn's essay for Herbology, two foot of parchment on Moly. He's reading over a paragraph on the Greek hero Odysseus use of the plant as protection against the sea witch Circe − Zayn is so much smarter than he lets on, so smart sometimes Harry wants to shake him and ask why he doesn't actually work with his brains instead of just getting by with minimal effort − when there comes a laugh somewhere behind him.

Nick groans, his head on Gemma's thigh as he reads his book. He lowers it, just in time to hear, "Hey, Slytherclaws."

Danny closes his eyes, shaking his head.

The nickname isn't funny or original or cute in anyways. Everyone ignores the next things shouted at them across the grounds. "Bloody Gryffindors," Danny gripes. Gemma pets at his shoulder, affectively shutting him up again.

On her lap, Nick announces, "One day, I'm going to push them all into the lake and let the merpeople have them." It earns a chuckle from Zayn, pushed partly out of his nose. Harry goes back to reading through Zayn's essay as Nick finishes, "Starting with that Tomlinson kid."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Fourth year starts off terribly.

Being fourteen is the worst. At least for Harry. He gets a growth spurt and suddenly his knees are a lot further away than they were before. Walking in a straight line is difficult, awkward for the first while but once he thinks he has his balance issues sorted, his arms and hands decide to no longer cooperate.

The first morning back in school, Harry sends a bowl flying and splashes cereal and milk across everyone sitting opposite him.

Nick catches it before it hits the ground with an alarming amount of grace for someone who should be going through the same issues as him. "Y'alright, mate?" he asks, placing the bowl back on the table with one hand and clapping the other on Harry's shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

Harry shrugs.

"You're clumsier than usual."

With a shake, Harry gets Nick's hand off his shoulder as he says, "I'm fine. Just. Teenage stuff."

Nick nods, pragmatically. He has always been good at that, looking like he knows exactly what everyone means and how to handle it because he's bloody Nick Grimshaw. Harry's sure if he was in another house − Slytherin, with Zayn most likely − he'd dislike Nick. (No, that's a lie. He would probably still like him.)

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Gemma runs up to them on the way to Potions, grabbing at Harry's cuff with her forefinger and thumb and snipping at them, "Nice of you two to wait for me." Harry opens his mouth to reply, to inform her that he would have but he didn't see her at breakfast, but gets himself stuck around the words because-

Fourteen year old Gemma is. A girl.

Over the summer she has- There's. Wow. Her lips seem more pink and as Harry watches her arguing with Nick about what a dick he is, he thinks about kissing her, wondering how soft her mouth would be under his. Looking down, he sees her fingers haven't let go of his cuff − they look longer, more elegant than before and Harry has to stop looking at them before he does something stupid, like try and hold her hand.

In the classroom, she takes the seat at the cauldron beside Nick, Harry sitting ahead of them and waiting for Zayn to arrive − they are still Potions partners, right? That hasn't changed as well over the summer, has it? − turning around to pretend to part of their conversation.

"What do you think?" Nick asks, drawing him into the conversation proper.

Harry gawks at him. Mouth open, eyes wide, Harry Styles gawks at Nick Grimshaw.

Gemma tells Nick, "He's still half asleep." And she laughs, the spread of her smile the whole way across her face. Even her freckles are different, more lovely than before.

He drops his eyes from her face in an attempt to hide his blush. If anything, it makes things worse.

In front of him, right within reaching distance, is the open collar of Gemma's shirt. Her tie hangs loose, properly knotted but not pulled up fully. There, on slight show in case any of the professors get on her case about it. Harry lets his eyes linger on the blue and bronze before travelling over the white cotton of her shirt. Then. Over the line of her exposed collarbone, lightly jutting out against her skin. It is only a fraction of the bone, only a patch of her skin but it's the way that it disappears under the rest of her clothes, what he can't see in contrast to what he can, that makes Harry's breath catch in his throat.

By the time Zayn arrives, the other two have completely dropped Harry from their conversation, shrugging his silence off as tiredness. Zayn puts his books down on the table, announcing, "Potions, first class back from Summer Holidays. Who thought that up?"

With the excuse of his partner's arrival, Harry turns around in his chair, mumbles a brief 'hello' at him.

"You alright?" Zayn asks.

Harry tries to nod and shake his head at the same time since he's unsure which answer he should go with. Zayn just laughs.

Being fourteen is awful.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Harry spends the next month stupidly fixated on every little thing about Gemma. It's disgusting but he can't seem to control it. Even when he's in his bed, far away from her, he thinks about the shape of her waist underneath her sweater and how the curve of it would feel under his hands. He thinks of bumping his fingers along her hip until he can fit his fingertips under the hem of her shirt and touch her skin. Her collarbones, her neck, the freckles on her cheekbones and the one that sits almost on the Cupid's bow of her lips, the gait of her wrists as she talks animatedly with Nick and has to draw shapes through the air with her hands to emphasise her point; all of it and more, Harry thinks about it.

It is almost as if Gemma has stopped being a person and has become a thing, a series of parts instead of the girl he's known since first year, when he bumped his hip off hers taking his seat at the Ravenclaw table.

It's terrible. Harry knows this. But he can't help it.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Nick trips and takes Gemma with him. They crash to the ground, tumbling together in a pile of limbs and Gemma's skirt flies up, revealing the pale blue cotton of her panties.

Harry tries so hard to look anywhere but at her but fails, a weird noise coming out of his throat at the same time.

Next to him, Zayn laughs. It's enough of a distraction, Harry turning and glaring at him, he forgets about Gemma and her underwear on the ground and when he turns back around, she's upright and sticking her hand out to help her step-brother off the stone floor.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

His name is Aneurin and he looks at Gemma with such achingly open affection it makes Harry's heart hurt. He isn't the only one to have noticed Gemma's sudden spurt in prettiness − Harry gets more awkward and taller while Gemma gets prettier and smarter, how is that fair? − but out of all of them, Aneurin is the one she picks.

(There are rumours around the castle that he's been seen kissing both of them, Nick as well as Gemma, which Harry thinks may be true. But he doesn't care for spreading gossip.)

He sighs to himself, flicking onto the next page of the book he's pretending to read. Zayn chuckles softly to his left. Harry lets his eyes dart over, not glaring − at least, not trying to glare − but intrigued. When Zayn says nothing but licks his lips and smiles that all-knowing smile of his, Harry asks, "What?"

"The way you look at her."

Harry goes back to ignoring him and not watching Aneurin and Gemma a few seats up from them.

Later, after dinner and watching Nick glaring at the Gryffindor table for a solid twenty minutes, Zayn sits down beside Harry against the wall in some otherwise empty corridor, letting the soles of his shoes scrape against the stone floor as he lowers himself down.

"What did you mean?" he asks and Zayn looks down as Harry looks up. Their eyes touch. "Earlier," he continues because Zayn doesn't answers and Harry wasn't very clear anyway. "When you said 'the way you look at her'. What did you mean by that?"

It's a deep question for a fourteen year old. Zayn considers his answer carefully. "It's just-" he starts, but cuts himself off. Harry gives him as much time as he needs. "You look at her like she's the last sunset before the end of the world. It's kinda pathetic."

Harry jabs him in the ribs with his elbow, making Zayn expel all the air in his lungs with a choked noise.

"What do you want from her?" he asks, when he catches his breath again. Harry tries not to look too triumphant about injuring his friend.

Next, he tries to wrap his head about talking about Gemma as a 'her', as whatever they're talking about, instead of just Gemma. He wrinkles his nose before he says, "Nothing. Really. She's nice to look at." Zayn hums agreeably because he can't say Harry's wrong. "Sometimes I think about- _stuff_. But I don't think I want to do that."

"Do what?"

Zayn isn't pushing, merely curious. Harry feels a prickle of embarrassment at the back of his neck.

"Like. Maybe, kiss her. Or something."

His face goes red as he admits it, whispering out the last part of his sentence. He's pretty sure Zayn doesn't catch what he says, not properly anyway, but he's nice enough to let it slide, doesn't make Harry try and say it again. "Then why don't you?" he questions.

Harry looks at him, eyes wide like Zayn's gone mad. "Cos she's. She's Gemma. I can't kiss Gemma."

"Why not?" Harry turns his head to look at him only to find Zayn's face close to his. His breath comes out of his nose and travels along the delicate angle of Zayn's cheekbone; he feels like he should apologise for it. "Kissing is just kissing until you make it mean something," he says, sounding like an authority on the subject. (Maybe he is. Harry doesn't know how many people Zayn has kissed − this is the first time they've ever spoken about the subject together.) Without meaning to, Harry lets his eyes drop to Zayn's mouth but Zayn moves too quickly for him to get a good look at it.

It's the lightest of kisses, barely a second passes between Zayn's lips pressing against Harry's cheek and before he pulls away. "Kisses don't have to mean anything if you don't want them to," Zayn says.

Harry has to swallow twice, has to practice how to breathe again before he can speak. "Yeah," he agrees, because he has nothing else relevant to add. Zayn lets the conversation slip, moving onto the next subject and Harry closes his eyes and thanks the winds silently for that small mercy.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The truth is Zayn has only kissed one person. A blonde named Perrie from Gryffindor. Her hair was soft beneath his hands on the last day of third year and Zayn kissed her because he wanted to kiss someone, not necessarily her.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Gemma must kick Nick under the desk. She must pinch him or slap him or something because Nick jerks awkwardly but stays quiet. 100 points. Because of their childish fighting, Louis and Nick have cost their houses 100 points. Gemma looks like she is about to kill Nick − they are in the Astronomy tower, so she has plenty of options − beyond her usual look of 'why did my mum marry your dad and force me to be related to you' when Nick does something stupid.

If Harry wasn't so far away, he would help. 

(Gemma, he'd help Gemma because Nick and Louis are ridiculous and need to be stopped and if the only way to do that is by tossing one of them out of the window, then so be it. Actually, Gemma can throw Nick and Harry can toss Louis, damn the repercussions.)

Outside of the class, Gemma hisses at Nick to grow up. Nick just rolls his eyes at her.

If anyone asked Harry − which no one will, since he's the baby of the group and no one ever asks him anything important like that − he would say that Nick should kiss Louis and get it over with. Because it's obvious to everyone that that would sort everything out. (And no one would have to hurtle to their death from a window and Gemma wouldn't have to go to prison for murder.) But no one is going to ask him, so Harry keeps it to himself.

So far, most of his fourth year has been taken up thinking about kissing (about kissing Gemma, about Nick and Louis kissing each other, about Zayn kissing him on the cheek and what he said afterwards). He can only hope it gets better in fifth year.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

There is a month and a bit left of school. In two weeks Slytherin are going to play Hufflepuff in the final Quidditch match of the year. But, for whatever reasons he has in his head, RJ pulls a bottle of green apple absinthe out from under his bed and asks Zayn, "Want to split it with me?"

Zayn can't ask where he got it, mainly because he doesn't want to know.

He finds himself nodding, pulling himself out of his bed and heading towards RJ's across from him. But RJ shakes his head. "Not here," he whispers, throwing back the cover of his own bed and shifting out of it. Zayn likes how his knees look in the fake moonlight of the room. (Slytherin dormitories, the best ones in the school in Zayn's opinion − away from all the other houses and neatly tucked under the lake. The fake moonlight through the fake windows is a romantic touch too, one Zayn greatly appreciates.)

They slip out through the common room as quietly as they can, keeping an eye out for any stray ghosts or Peeves lurking around corners because, "This is glass. It'll make a huge mess if I drop it," RJ explains.

Zayn gets a delicious feeling along his spine, the one he always gets when he's doing something wrong and knows he's going to get away with it; one he gets less than he would like but more than he should within the walls of the school.

Before crossing the first corridor, RJ reaches for his wrist but ends up with Zayn's hand. "C'mon," he whispers, the bottle of absinthe tucked neatly away under his arm. The stone tiles are cold under the feet. Zayn doesn't let go, just lets RJ half pull him along after him, slipping behind a statue and making their knees knock together as they hear footsteps approaching.

RJ opens his mouth to speak but Zayn quickly covers it with his hand. He shakes his head.

RJ breathes in and out three times before Zayn takes his hand away, the coast clear and the school silent all around them once more. They walk again, hands still tangled together but a more even hold between them, Zayn half leading although he's a small step behind the other boy.

The door they find opens out onto a small courtyard. Zayn spies the statue, eyeing it uneasily; on one of his first days here, a couple of Gryffindor third years told him the statue contained the soul of a dead girl, trapped within it, ready to scream whenever visitors to her courtyard disturbed her. Now, three years later and three years older, Zayn knows the story to be a vicious lie, but he still can't shake it.

RJ lets go of his hand and screws the cap from the bottle. It clicks loudly, Zayn glaring at him for the noise and they stand there, facing one another, trying to breathe as quietly as they can.

No one comes.

"You first," he says when RJ offers it to him.

Zayn has never had absinthe before, never really had any alcohol before but RJ seemed so prepared to drink it tonight, his enthusiasm rubbed off on Zayn. He watches the way RJ's throat moves around his swallow, listens to how he hisses out a breath when he pulls the bottle away from his mouth. "It's strong," he tells him, like a warning, but Zayn accepts the bottle and takes a drink.

With the bottle halfway finished, they find themselves lying on the ground.

Above them, the stars wink. Zayn thinks this is what it feels like to be drunk. Fourteen years old, he's lying thigh to thigh with RJ King in some courtyard at Hogwarts. The thought makes a laugh bubble out of his mouth − he should try and stop it, but RJ is smiling at him as if it's the best noise he's ever heard and it's difficult to stop doing anything when it makes RJ smile.

"Why'd you want to drink it?" he asks, finding his voice after a long period of silence.

More than likely he's speaking too loud but they've been lucky so far, no staff or the caretaker's cat coming along and finding them. Even the ghosts seem to avoid this area. RJ's shrug causes their shoulders to butt together and another laugh escapes Zayn's mouth.

"Seemed like a good idea," he answers.

Zayn had forgotten he had asked a question.

His fingers don't feel like his. He moves his hand and touches RJ's leg. If anything, it makes RJ push his leg closer to him. He tells him, "I was expecting it to be green."

"Yeah," RJ sighs. "Me too."

They fall back into silence, passing the bottle back and forth and somehow managing not to spill it everywhere, or drown themselves. It's quite an accomplishment, Zayn thinks. He goes to tell RJ this but what comes out of his mouth is: "We should make something else green instead." His brain is still back in that conversation, but it's not like RJ knows what Zayn really wanted to say, so he finds it difficult to be embarrassed about it.

"I could change your hair," he replies, sitting up.

Zayn nods and follows him.

It ends up a dark mossy green, some emerald tones shimmering it in when the light hits it just right. RJ looks proud of his handiwork and Zayn grins at him, another quarter of the bottle gone by the time he's finished. "Now, you make something green," RJ says, waving his hands in the air. Zayn half expects him to conjure something, sighing in disappointment when nothing materialises.

Taking his wand out of his pocket, Zayn thinks about what to do.

"What's your full name?" he asks.

RJ frowns at him. Zayn figures he's right − they _have_ been sharing a dormitory for the last four years. "RJ King," he says, answering his own question even though that isn't what he meant. He laughs then, closing his eyes for a second to try and centre himself. "We have the last surname."

"No we don't."

"Yeah," Zayn argues, coming back and leaning into RJ's space. "Your name is King and Malik _means_ King." He stops, taking another drink. His words slur together when he says, "Or something like that."

RJ answers with, "Just make something green," and takes the bottle away from him.

A crown. A green crown appears in the air, exploding as it crackles, breaking into fragments of sparkles like a firework. RJ smiles, spilling absinthe out of his mouth as he applauds. Zayn makes another one appear because there are two of them. Two drunk Slytherin kings in some courtyard.

"Want the end?" RJ offers, arm outstretched.

Zayn takes it mostly because it's there. He ignores the way RJ watches him drink.

The empty bottle makes a different clink against the stone than the full bottle did, more hollow and vibrating louder. RJ closes his eyes at the noise − Zayn likes how his eyelashes look against his cheeks. "It's ok," he whispers, keeping his voice tiny. He presses in, just to make sure RJ hears him.

He opens his eyes as Zayn lines them up nose to nose. RJ is the one to push their mouths together but Zayn has been thinking about kissing him since RJ offered to charm his hair green. It goes lip on lip, both of them pausing to breathe once but not breaking the kiss, until RJ nips at Zayn's bottom lip and he opens up his mouth for him. He gets an arm around RJ's neck, tugging him in so harshly their cheekbones knock together and Zayn swallows the noise RJ makes.

When Slytherin lose to Hufflepuff two weeks later − and no one saw that coming at all − they don't do anything about it. No lamenting pick-me-up drinks or consolatory make outs. In fact, they never kiss again. Because Zayn is a big believer in the fact that kissing someone doesn't mean anything unless you make it and that night, he just wanted to kiss RJ.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

In August, Harry's sister goes on holiday to Greece with her friends and his mum finally agrees Nick and Gemma can come over to visit because there's now a spare bed for Gemma. With Harry's help, she flips the mattress because, "It's only right Gemma gets a good mattress. She's a guest."

Harry knows for a fact he has never flipped his mattress and he is not going to flip the spare one for Nick.

They arrive precisely at 3 o'clock. Harry feels his hands twitch in his pockets as he tries to act cool, Gemma's mum talking to his about rules and how if one of them acts up at any point, send her an owl immediately and she will be right over. 

There is no crest of arms in Harry's entrance hall, only a bunch of photos of him from primary school and before.

The Grimshaw-Artertons (Harry never remembers which way round they have it legally) examine each one in turn, despite his efforts to usher them on into the kitchen or living room or up the bloody stairs. Gemma prods at a frame while Nick laughs, announcing, "It still baffles me that they don't move."

Harry releases a laugh of his own. "Sorry, no moving pictures here. You're slumming it with muggles for a week."

They invite Zayn over on the Saturday because, after a year in the halls of Hogwarts together, it starts to feel weird not having him around. The four of them don't do much; Harry takes them to the playground and down to the shopping centre where Nick flirts with the barista at Starbucks and Zayn watches the skateboarders on the pavement by the side entrance, but Harry likes having them there.

It's a pretty uneventful week, all in all, the three of them lazing around Harry's house while he tries to teach them how to play videogames − Gemma accidentally kicks his ass four times in a row in some racing game but Nick is terrible at FIFA so it evens out − and laughs at how they keep waiting for the photos to move.

The following Saturday Nick and Gemma take Harry to Diagon Alley.

Like at the muggle shopping centre the previous week, they don't buy anything but Harry likes being with them, away from school.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The main thing about school politics and teenage hierarchy is it is a surprisingly un-underhanded business. Those in power can't play behind the scenes but have to publicly show their ability to go after and get what they want. Which is exactly how Gemma and Nick play things when they enter fifth year. And what started with Zayn last year becomes a house-wide allegiance this time around.

It begins with little things, Slytherins and Ravenclaws pairing up for projects, Potions partners swapping around so there's a more even balance of interhouse pairs than only one house working together. When someone gets something right in class, the person beside them congratulates them whether they're Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor or Slytherin. It happens mostly between Slytherins and Ravenclaws, tiny little things that highlight the building relationship between the two houses as Gryffindors watch with cautious eyes, trying to work out what they're planning.

By the time the first Quidditch match of the season rolls around in late October, the entire Slytherin stand cheers for Ravenclaw. Harry catches Zayn's eye from across the way and the two share a smile. At Harry's side, Nick looks utterly smug as a cheer erupts from both sides of the pitch when Luke, one of the Ravenclaw chasers, makes it passed the Gryffindor goalie to score.

To everyone watching, it is Nick leading and Gemma and Zayn following but to anyone watching properly, it is obvious Gemma is the one pulling the strings. But she does it so quietly, even Harry forgets sometimes.

He gets reminded immediately the day a cat turns up in their dormitory. A grey cat with no tail and one leg longer than all the others, causing him to sort of hop like a frog when he walks. Harry asks, "When did we get a cat?" at the same time Gemma questions, "Why do you have Louis Tomlinson's cat?"

"How do you know it's Tomlinson's cat?" he counters.

Gemma sighs out slowly. "Because I've seen him before; I've seen him _with_ Louis. So, why do you have Tripod?"

Harry counts the cat's legs. "But he has four legs." The other two aren't listening.

"Because."

"Why did you steal Louis' cat?"

Nick looks at his step-sister. "I didn't steal him. RJ did. But his roommate is allergic, so he asked if I could keep him here." Meanwhile, Harry drops down to the floor, beckoning the cat over to him. He's a handsome fellow, large yellow eyes and a glossy coat. A loud purr too − he rumbles like a train as Harry traces his fingers over his back, leaning into the touch.

"Oh good," Gemma remarks, a note of a laugh in her voice. "I'm so glad you were only an accessory to the theft; I'm sure the Headmistress will be so pleased to hear that. Why do you have the bloody cat, Nick?"

"It's a prank, Gem." He sounds angry, actually angry with her for not understanding. "An innocent prank to throw the Gryffindor team off their next game."

Gemma looks unimpressed. "Great. I knew there would be some suitable explanation for why you're holding a boy's cat captive in your dormitory." Harry snickers, scratching behind Tripod's ears. "A boy who is, right now, incredibly upset that his cat is missing. I walked passed him earlier practically crying at Stan, worrying that merpeople have eaten his cat," she explains.

Harry throws in, "Merpeople aren't known for eating cats."

She whips her head around to tell him, "Thank you, Harry. I'm sure that will be so reassuring for Louis to hear − merpeople aren't _known_ for eating cats. That's wonderful." For such a tiny person − since their growth spurts the previous Summer, Gemma stands about four inches shorter than both of them − she holds a lot of sarcasm inside her. Turning back to Nick, she says, "This isn't how we do things, Nicholas. Interhouse relations, play nice with the Hufflepuffs and Professors, win the House Cup. We don't steal people's pets."

"But RJ-"

"For God's sake, Nick, if you want to get RJ's attention, ask him on a date to Madame Puddifoot's. Don't steal cats for him." She motions at Harry to hand her the cat but he ignores her while she still glares at Nick, tickling Tripod's chin for another moment. "And if you want to get Louis to notice you, there are easier ways than holding his cat captive. Styles, give me the cat."

Nick gawks at her.

"You can't give the cat back."

She asks, "Are you going to do it?" Nick closes his mouth, shaking his head. "Didn't think so. Harry, seriously, give me the cat."

Much to his chagrin, Tripod goes rather easily to Gemma, purring contentedly against her chest as she leaves the room. With a sigh, Nick looks at Harry, silently motioning towards the door with a face that reads 'suppose we better follow her'.

In the Great Hall Louis all but throws himself at her in gratitude. "Where did you find him?" he asks, a little breathless and beaming wide as Tripod paws at his sweater, brushing his tail back and forth languidly.

"He climbed in through the bathroom window," she lies, easily. "I'd recognise that walk of his anywhere."

Louis stares at her with a look of awe and utter shock. Between them, Tripod mews for attention. "Thank you," Louis says, sounding on the verge of tears. Unhelpfully, Tripod headbutts him on the chin. "Really. Thanks for finding him."

"It's no problem." Gemma adds, "He's a sweetheart."

As she walks away, the Slytherin Quidditch team watch her go by. She stops as she reaches Nick, leaning in and stating in a hushed tone, "And that's how you play the Gryffindors. No more stealing pets, yeah?" The unsaid 'cos if you do, I'll make sure they never find you body' rings out loud and clear. With that, she exits the room.

Harry almost starts a slow clap because that was truly impressive.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The next day is the first day where Louis Tomlinson doesn't flick little bits of paper into Nick's hair during Charms. Out of habit, Nick runs a hand through his hair but nothing falls out. Harry smiles at him, nodding towards Gemma passing by a gaggle of Gryffindors and sharing a smile with them. She catches up with the other two, a few Slytherins − Zayn, Danny, a couple other faces Harry recognises − following along with her.

Zayn knocks his arm against Harry's on purpose and the two of them fall into step.

Aneurin slips into their group without anyone really noticing. Harry only does when Aneurin takes Nick's hand, butting his elbow off Harry's in the process. To Zayn, Harry asks, "Do you think it's possible to love two people at once?"

Zayn gives him that look, the one that says Harry is adorable and the smartest idiot Zayn has ever met, and Harry returns it with a smile. "Who says," he answers, "he's in love with both of them? Or that they are in love with him, for that matter?"

The thought makes Harry's head hurt.

"Then, why-" he tries out but gives up, unsure where to go next.

Zayn just shrugs. "Because they can?" It sounds like a questions but Harry doesn't have an answer. "They definitely like him − they wouldn't keep him around if they didn't − but I don't think it's anything. Important? Romantically?"

The lilt he puts on the words are the most unsure things Harry has ever heard come from Zayn. He almost pats him on the cheek to reassure him it's ok. _Almost_. "It's like you said last year," he says, hoping it sounds like a reminder. Zayn looks at him. "About kissing and how it's just kissing until you make it mean something. Nick and Gemma are just sharing until- until someone meaningful comes along."

This time, Zayn asks, "Do you think they'll ever stop sharing boys?"

Harry hoots with laughter. Boys are just about the only thing Gemma and Nick _can_ share.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

His name is Cole and he's a Slytherin. But not one of Zayn's friends.

Running in to class a millisecond before it begins, Harry dives into the first seat he finds. He almost tears his parchment, yanking it from his bag with such haste. And beside him, someone laughs. He turns around and finds Cole beside him, a grin spread lopsided across his face as he watches Harry attempting to smooth his parchment out, the ink smudged on the first few lines where he leant his cuff on the still-wet ink.

On the next weekend trip to Hogsmeade, Cole kisses Harry underneath the main arch of the Great Hall while everyone else slowly files out.

It feels like it means more than it should, but Harry supposes that's how all first kisses feel.

After Cole there's Caroline, a chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. It lasts until around Valentine's Day, where Harry gets a box of chocolates from her and ends up giving them to Gemma and Nick, too consumed with his own guilt of dumping her to enjoy them himself. After her, there's Jade, Leigh-Anne, Matt (who drops Harry to go on a proper date with Gemma's friend Alexa but Harry doesn't get that upset about it), RJ's friend Sophie, Antonia, Cara and Zac, to name but a few.

The worst break up he goes through is with Taylor. 

She gets so mad and upset and Harry is so confused because they're fifteen, not settling down and having children any time in the immediate future. Three days after it he dumps her, he receives a cursed letter that makes his eyebrows fall out. When he runs to tell Nick and Gemma, they are completely unhelpful; Nick laughs and Gemma wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders and informs him, "Don't mess with girls, Styles."

All in all, none of them seems all that important. Just something to do in between all the studying and classwork − a nice break from the bunch of friends he has already accumulated in the school.

If he's honest, Harry likes kissing but he is disappointed that his fifth year is taken up by thinking about it as much as it was the previous year. Around Easter, when he receives a chocolate rabbit pushing a chocolate wheelbarrow from his mum − the head falls off when the owl drops it on the table, falls right off into the wheelbarrow, the most upsetting thing Harry sees all week − he tells himself he's going to stop thinking about kissing people so much and study harder.

(Which fails quite a bit when Zayn says, "You're turning into a right Ravenclaw," and yanks his tie to annoy him. It doesn't bother Harry all that much, really, but it earns a scathing look and an arch of an eyebrow sent Zayn's direction from Gemma.)

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Nick says, "I think I'm gonna ask RJ out. On a proper date." Harry just looks at him, breathes in and out, then returns to the chapter on Ganymedes, Jupiter's biggest moon. He's not quite sure why he's meant to care when there's Astronomy to be studied. Or why he's the one Nick is telling first.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

By the time the O. W. Ls begin, RJ and Nick are 'that couple' and Aneurin fades off into the past.

The first time Nick refers to RJ as his boyfriend, Harry and Zayn share identical looks of amusement but save their laughter until later, when it's just the two of them in the library and Harry is using every form of bribery he can to convince Zayn that if he actually studies, he'll _definitely_ get at least an E in Care of Magical Creatures, instead of scrapping by with an A.

He's about to give up, ready to snatch his book away and tell Zayn 'fine, do what you like, Malik' when Gemma appears around the corner, holding seven books in one arm and a scroll of parchment in the other.

Harry looks at her and sighs − since calf love is the hardest to kill and he is somewhat worried about her since Nick has a boyfriend and she doesn't and wasn't sharing boys their _thing_? − and underneath the table, Zayn clatters his knee off his.

"Do either of you know who Greg James is?"

Zayn wrinkles his lip, shaking his head.

Harry is more blunt, goes with, "Why?"

"I found his History of Magic notes and I'm thinking he'd probably like them back."

Harry feels his face break into a grin at that. The rest of the school can say what they like about Gemma but sometimes (secretly, mainly only in front of Nick and Harry) she's caring and lovely. Once again, Zayn bashes Harry's knee with his own, so hard it must hurt him as well, and Harry turns to glare at him. He mouths something at Harry but with the light in the room and the late hour, Harry can't make it out between the shadows.

She sighs, muttering something to herself as she walks away about them both being useless.

The next morning at breakfast, Nick tells her, "I think he's in Hufflepuff," and Gemma marches off to the Hufflepuff table to a brace of fifth years, tapping one of them on the shoulder. Harry knows that's Niall − he looks petrified, considering the last time he and Gemma had any contact, he spilt a goblet of water down the back of her sweater.

Gemma asks, "Are any of you Greg James?"

One of her socks has fallen down her shin while one of her cuffs covers her hand completely. Her hair is ruffled out on one side where she didn't quite brush through it properly before dashing down the stairs to breakfast; she is every part a rumpled sixteen year old, half awake and unprepared for the day, but she still manages to command attention and look wholly terrifying.

Harry thinks he hears Niall gulp.

"I am," one of them answers, rising from the table. At full height, he towers over Gemma − although she took a growth spurt back in March, passing Louis and Zayn, Greg has to be a solid seven inches taller than her. Yet, he looks hesitant, afraid, like this little pigeon toed, still sleep soft girl is going to eat him alive. (Maybe Gemma should tone down the Queen Bee thing a little?)

She nods. "I found your notes in the library."

Greg breathes out slowly, most of the tension in his shoulder disappearing away. "Thanks," he replies. "I thought I'd lost them."

Gemma looks down. Her hands are empty.

"I'll be right back."

She all but trips her way back to the table, pushing the top four books off the pile to retrieve his notes, and then all but skips back. Harry chooses to ignore the way a light blush has crept over her face, leaving it up to Nick to tease her about it later; it is, after all, a brother's right to get first jibes in.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

In July, Harry's family go to France. It's nothing special, the same camp site they've always gone to − the site areas are named after famous French painters, although Harry can't work out why the caravans in the Renoir area are nicer than the ones in the Monet.

He sends postcards off to Gemma, Nick and Zayn and hopes they'll get there ok.

They must do for when he gets home, there is post waiting for him from all three. Stuck in a house somewhere in the Black Forest, Nick and Gemma sounds on the verge of tearing one another apart, their letters telling Harry the same, exact stories from two very different points of view. Nick also seems to miss RJ a lot but there are no mentions of Greg from Gemma.

He puts the letters down side by side, already trying to mentally separate which bits to reply to and which parts he can ignore. Even when they aren't with him, the Grimshaw-Arterton-Grimshaws (it's easier to call them that since Harry always gets it wrong, no matter what way he says it) make his head hurt.

The envelope of Zayn's letter opens with a satisfying rip.

According to it, Zayn and the Maliks have yet to go on holidays but are planning a trip to Egypt that-

"Mum," Harry yells down the stairs, taking them two by two and miraculously not falling flat on his face as he skids into the kitchen. "Mum." He finds her in the garden, already weeding and pruning away at the roses even though they've just got home. "I've been invited to Egypt."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Through the orange cotton of his t-shirt, Harry can feel the skin on his shoulders burning under the sun. Much to Harry's annoyance, Zayn seems to be absolutely fine − positively glowing, in fact. Harry wants to gag and go back to the hotel in a huff, sweaty and sticky and burning, but he has already declined on the camel rides − "No, thank you," he had said to his parents, but to Zayn himself it was more of a, "Why would I ever want to do that?" − so he feels his daily allowance of negativity towards the Maliks has run dry.

To its credit, Egypt is gorgeous. And the Maliks are more than gracious hosts, making Harry feel so welcome and at home amongst them, even in a foreign country; all of the photos have included Harry and any time Harry stopped in awe of some temple or wall or frozen banana stand, Zayn or one of his sisters have laughed and tugged him along after them.

As much as Harry does love Gemma and Nick's family, he thinks he might like the Maliks more.

Sitting at the edge of the pool, their shorts rolled up a little higher and their feet dipped in the water, Harry swishes his legs back and forth. He is content enough to leave the silence between them, the noises of the other people around the hotel filling up the space enough he isn't itching to talk about something. The rest of Zayn's family have gone off on camels to see some tomb or another, leaving the boys ambling about the hotel themselves.

It was Harry's choice to hang out by the pool and Zayn, despite his fear of water, was nice enough to accompany him.

"You can take your shirt off, you know. If you're too hot."

So, now apparently Zayn can read minds. Or has learnt how to read Harry too well since they became friends.

Harry just arches an eyebrow at him, too hot and uncomfortable to speak.

"Or get in the pool."

When Harry doesn't move, Zayn changes the subject. "I think my family used to own the land around here. Or something. That's what Dad said anyway, the first time we came."

Finding his tongue, heavy and dry in his mouth but still usable, Harry asks, "But I thought your dad's family are from Pakistan?" The look Zayn shoots him is utterly withering, one step away from complete disdain, but Harry accepts it silently. 

"Obviously we moved," he retorts.

Harry supposes he deserves that.

"What were you then, before you came to Egypt? And England?"

It's sort of surprising he's never asked Zayn this before − with the stories he has heard about Gemma and Nick and even Louis' families, and Harry's own muggle beginnings, he thinks it should have come up before now. He kicks his foot out, splashing water, to distract himself from pointing this out.

Zayn sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, pushing it back out with his tongue no more than two seconds later. Harry gets caught staring at it, suddenly taken by surprise when Zayn speaks. "I think we were back there, somewhere in the beginning. The name comes from an ancient god, Moloch − you know in the Bible, after Moses leads the Jewish slaves out of Egypt?" Harry nods. There was a film about it, one his sister watched over and over until the tape wore out. "Moloch was the golden bull they turned to, started worshipping after God let them down and left them wandering in the desert for forty years. The Bible says God killed three thousand people for worshipping him, but my family survived. Became kings. Learnt magic as they travelled the world."

He stops, staring down at the water.

"That's the story, anyway." Zayn laughs but his eyes are staring off into the middle distance, staring at something deep down in the blue water Harry can't see. 

Harry waits for him to snap out of it. He thinks of Nick, and the snake John Grimshaw slaughtered to marry the princess trapped inside; he thinks of Gemma, descended from the Devil himself. And now there's Zayn, the next in-line of a centuries old family who turned their back on God.

His granduncle has Nazi bullets in his arm. It really doesn't compare. And yet-

Here he is.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

It takes Louis Tomlinson a lot longer to infiltrate their group than it does Greg. And Greg does it a lot quieter than Louis does. One day, he just appears at Gemma's side while they're all studying in the library and slips his arm around the back of her chair while he reads, not around her shoulders but still there. Neither one of them looks up from their books when he does it but Harry still nudges Zayn with his elbow when he spots it.

Louis, on the other hand, is loud and brazen and so intent on annoying them (mostly Nick and RJ), even Zayn whispers to Harry, "I'm going to push him in the lake if he doesn't shut up."

Yes. He doesn't throw bits of paper at any of them during class any more. And he hasn't referred to any of them as 'Slytherclaws' in a long while. But he is still Louis, as obnoxious and cheeky as he has always been, capable of drawing a 'bloody Gryffindor' from any one of them when he pushes hard enough.

(That said, there seems to be some unspoken truce between Louis and Gemma. He doesn't try to annoy her as much as the others, never pushes at her. He even seems to go quiet when she looks up at him, bothered enough by him to lift her head from whatever she's doing and give him 0.4 seconds of her attention. Then again, she did give him back his cat and Harry has found it is the small acts of kindness that speak louder than the huge acts of anything else.)

The most unsurprisingly surprising thing Louis does is kiss Nick after the first Quidditch match of sixth year.

Gryffindor trounce Hufflepuff spectacularly, despite the heavy rain, and while still in his soaked Quidditch uniform, dripping all over everybody else, Louis throws himself at Nick and latches onto his mouth. And Nick doesn't push him off, despite RJ sitting to his left.

Harry casts a glance over at Gemma, her left thigh mostly in Greg's lap and her fingers absently stroking through the hair at the back of his neck, to see her roll her eyes in an almost affectionate manner with her whole face reading 'finally Grimshaw'. Harry finds himself smiling but doesn't return to looking at the two boys kissing, instead letting them have their moment.

Next to him, Zayn lets out a laugh.

Even RJ seems oddly amused by the whole thing.

Louis pulls away, slowly, and the entire front of Nick's robes are damp from him. He looks almost apologetic, but quickly forgets it when Nick tips his chin with his forefinger.

"I should probably go get changed," Louis says, less to Nick and more as a passing thought.

"Yeah," Nick agrees.

It feels like − at least in Harry's eyes − he's saying a lot more.

The following week, when Louis kisses RJ, no one is surprised at all; they all saw that coming a bloody mile off.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Now there is a whole pack of them. Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, Slytherins and Hufflepuffs. House pride is still top of the agenda, the lot of them often falling into longwinded discussions and heated arguments about it when they meet in library or hidden away together up at the Astronomy tower. But. Harry likes the way the conversation flows now that they have an opinion from every house.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Zayn snorts out of a laugh as Harry almost stumbles in shock. When he lifts his leg out of the water, there is a piece of reed wrapped around his wader. "Not the giant squid then," Zayn tells him. Harry glares at him in a look he has stolen completely from Nick and Gemma. It only makes Zayn laugh more.

The spine of the book creaks when he folds it. Zayn grimaces at the sound but Harry is too engrossed in it to be bothered responding. ("Books are meant to be read, Malik." "Read, yes; destroy by your clumsiness, no.") He nods to himself and takes a purposeful step forwards. Zayn knows he has no idea where he's going but he makes a damn good show of appearing to.

"I don't think you're deep enough," Zayn states.

He's meant to be studying, reading over the notes he took in Potions last class, but between his own demented chicken scratch and Harry bloody Styles traipsing about the lake, looking for any signs of merpeople, he's finding it very difficult to concentrate.

With a sniff, Harry replies, "Then I'll have to go deeper, won't I?"

Zayn leaves him to it. If Harry drowns, it will be his own fault. Zayn wasn't the one who thought it would be a good idea to take out the library's only copy of _Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them_ because Harry has misplaced his own, borrow a pair of waders from God knows who and climb into the lake. In fact, if anything, he was the one who said it sounded like a terrible plan and he would not be a part of it. But, he _is_ the only one of their group sitting at the edge of the lake.

Oh cripes. 

If Harry drowns, Zayn will feel a little guilty.

He stumbles again but there are no ripples on the surface of the water to suggest the squid has decided to come up and see who has dropped in for a visit.

With a sigh, Zayn stands up. 

He uses a rock to hold down his parchment, preventing it from blowing into the water with the wind, and shirks his sweater off over his head. Next, he slips his shoes off, stuffing his socks inside them. He doesn't have a pair of waders like Harry does and his trousers only roll to his knees, one of them already slipping down his leg. He enters the water just in time to watch Harry almost trip face first into it, the book coming awfully close to going into the water.

"Careful, Styles," he warns, the pebbles slippier than he was expecting under his feet. "Remember who took that book out for you."

It was probably a bad idea getting into the water without warning Harry first, because he almost falls in arse first when he turns around to look at Zayn. "What are you doing?" he asks, voice thin with shock.

"Making sure you don't drown."

"But you can't swim."

Harry has a point there. Zayn had forgotten about that. Now, he worries that getting in the water with him is less of a help and more of an actual problem for Harry, should anything go wrong. But he shrugs it off, stepping purposefully after him. Harry is reaching out for him before Zayn is less than two steps away. The water has passed the rolled up cuffs of his trousers now, soaking through the material and sticking it to his skin but Zayn finds it hard to care when Harry pulls their palms together, pointing with the book in his other hand and announcing, "This way."

When Zayn does fall in − and it was always going to happen, at least one of them was going in, Zayn was just hoping it was going to be Harry − Harry lets go of his hand in shock, letting Zayn slip under the water totally. It isn't very deep where he goes down, and his fingers scuff the edge of Harry's waders.

He comes back up spluttering.

Harry is doubled over in laughter but sticks manages to stick out a hand to help Zayn out. Zayn shivers, his teeth chattering together as he glares at Harry. "Yo-you had-d t-t-to get i-in th-th-the lake in Dec-cem-m-mber-r."

Harry laughs the whole way to the hospital wing.

Zayn doesn't realise he even took Harry's hand until he has to let go so the nurse can wrap a blanket around his shoulders.

Out, on the edges of the lake, Zayn's notes sit trapped under a rock alongside his shoes and his sweater.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The unicorn heads straight towards Louis, carefully avoiding going anywhere near Nick. Nick harrumphs in displeasure while Louis looks mortified, a flush of red spreading the whole way down his face and bleeding onto his neck. "I-" he begins. But no one says anything back. The unicorn stops, mane glowing pretty silver in the sunlight as it shakes its head before dropping into a sort of bow.

Someone sniggers but both RJ and Gemma turn towards the noise, silencing it immediately.

Harry whispers to Zayn, "You think I could touch it?"

"If you're still a virgin, yeah." He sucks in a breath and somewhere at the front of the group, Louis squeaks as the unicorn headbutts him. Harry thinks he's overreacting. The unicorn is adorable. And no one cares. "It won't come near me though," Zayn adds.

Oh. 

_Right._

Harry stays where he is.

No one mentions the unicorn again once class is over. As he stands beside Louis, Harry can feel him thrumming with the need to explain − he's the only one who cares the unicorn went over to him. Sighing to himself exaggeratedly, Harry turns to him and says, "If I hadn't been standing behind Zayn, it would have come over to me too."

Louis gawks at him.

"What?"

"The unicorn. Zayn's not a virgin, so it avoided him. And Nick. And Gemma. I was just standing beside them."

"But-"

Louis stops, pulling his top lip under his bottom teeth, gnawing it into his mouth so tightly the flesh blanches. "But you and Zayn."

Harry's face moves into a frown. "I was behind him."

Louis repeats his previous statement, making Harry's frown deepen. "What about us?" he counters.

"You know, you're- you know?"

Harry promptly gives up, turning his attention away to Gemma, ruffling her stepbrother's hair and stating, "Sweetie, if a wild unicorn ever strayed into Hogwarts, it would avoid the Ravenclaw tower by a mile purely because of you," with such affection in her voice Harry is momentarily thrown.

"Thanks," Nick returns and next to him, RJ laughs.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

It is none of his business. Not really. If Zayn has had sex with someone, well. Good for Zayn. But Harry thought they were friends. They were close enough friends for Zayn's family to take Harry to Egypt with them but apparently not enough for Harry to know who Zayn had had sex with. And was it full sex? Because how picky are unicorns? Did Zayn. . . God. Harry feels a hot prickle of something travelling down the back of his neck, his arms breaking into gooseflesh at the thought.

He watches Zayn stirring the cauldron, his eyes concentrating on the liquid within it as he waits for it to go just the right shade of blue before adding the belladonna and bringing it to the boil.

Harry should probably do something, but he's already got the fairy wing ground to a fine powder and the knotgrass chopped into precisely half an inch long strips. As he pushes the grass into a pile, moving it out of the neat rows he had it in before with the edge of the knife, Harry takes in the arch of Zayn's eyebrow, the fine line of his cheekbones underneath his skin and the stubble along his top lip.

Luckily, he doesn't catch Harry staring.

Harry considers writing a note. A casual, one line affair in Harry's disjointed scrawl − _how was it then?_

Zayn would know what he meant if he slid it over. Wouldn't he?

"Did that parchment do something wrong?" Nick asks, suddenly at Harry's side. Harry turns to him, Zayn now stirring his wand over the cauldron, three times clockwise as the directions state. "You're glaring at it. Did it offend you?"

If Nick wasn't holding two vials of their potion (and if Harry wasn't terrified Gemma would kill him for making Nick drop them) Harry would shove his friend over with a well timed elbow to the hip.

"Nothing," he fires back, just over a hiss.

Nick sniffs, feigning hurt, before turning on his heel with a snappy, "Suit yourself."

Harry feels bad about it for the rest of the day. Even in Charms, when Gemma ends up half sitting on top of him and Harry breathes, "Nick isn't mad at me, is he?" into the soft wool of her sweater pressed up against his nose and Gemma just looks at him, shaking her head as she pets his hair reassuringly, Harry can't let it go. All through dinner, while Nick bores his step-sister with chatter about RJ and Louis at Quidditch practise and how Nick can't decide who flies better, Harry looks for signs his friend is annoyed with him, anything at all. If he would just show it, Harry would be ok with it but it's the quiet, nagging feeling in Harry's throat, the question of 'Nick, are you mad at me?' that sits there, bothering him.

(That's how it is with Zayn too. Because. Yeah. Harry would be ok with it if Zayn had told him. But it's the fact he doesn't know and wants to ask and can't stop thinking about it.)

He manages to relax a little once they're all sitting in an empty corridor on the sixth floor, soothed beforehand when Nick grabbed his wrists, pulling him from the stairs as they began to move again.

But now Zayn is sitting opposite him, glaring at Louis as he lies languidly across Nick's lap, his hands curling for RJ and his foot occasionally smacking off Zayn's thigh, and Harry can't look at him.

Like there's now a wall there between them.

Greg joins them after fifteen minutes, the conversation just about to lull before he arrives, a little breathless and streaming out apologies but, "I had to drop a book back to the library or else I'd be fined." He takes the spot on the stone floor next to Gemma, their hips bumping as he sits but neither one moving more or less close to the other.

He wonders if it was Greg for Gemma, or if it was someone else. One of the boys with Nick or someone she didn't name. Harry remembers talking to her about it, remembers her curling into his side one morning, soft and tactile in a baggy sweater and no pants − he'd asked something about a boy, maybe Aneurin, he can't remember, and she'd laughed. It had come up in the conversation, flowed in easily and Harry had continued stroking her hair and Gemma just kept going, moving onto the next topic as easily as they'd gone into that one. (He wonders if that's what it would have gone like if he'd been in Slytherin with Zayn, instead of in the Ravenclaw tower with Gemma and Nick.)

Harry shakes his head to snap himself back to reality.

Gemma and Greg are talking to Nick, who is doing his damndest to ignore Louis sprawled out like an oversized housecat across him. RJ, being RJ, is giving his complete attention to Louis, if only to ruffle his hair the wrong way and cause Louis to frown up at him.

When he kicks Zayn again, Zayn shoves Louis' leg away from him.

Harry leans over the gap and tugs him over into the space next to him, safely out of the firing line.

"Y'alright?" he asks. Zayn butts their shoulders together in a shrug. Harry returns it with a hum, nodding like he gets it.

"You?" Zayn replies.

A nod is all Harry gives him.

"You sure?" Harry meets his face, waits. "You've been kinda funny all day. Quiet. Kinda twitchy." Forcing himself to laugh − because that's what people do, isn't it? Clear the air with humour and laughter − Harry drops his eyes. He feels himself blush but hopes the angle and the darkness of the hall hide most of it from Zayn. "Are you mad you didn't get to pet the unicorn?"

This, Zayn whispers to him, keeping the very mention of 'unicorn' away from Louis. (It's why Zayn is Harry's favourite, even above Gemma and Zayn. His consideration, his diplomatic approach to situations, seeing things in ways others wouldn't. But Harry would never say that to him.)

"You could have gone over," Zayn goads.

Harry only answers because Zayn seems so determined to have a conversation about it. "And leave you out. Nah, I was good where I was, mate."

Zayn seems to recoil. Harry isn't sure why.

Further up the corridor, Gemma muffles her laugh into Greg's shoulder, a sudden shock of sound, the complete opposite of the whispers between Harry and Zayn. It snaps Harry out of it for a moment, practically takes him out of himself so he feels like he's down with them, squished in between Gemma and Nick and Louis and the others, and not with Zayn.

When he comes back, he feels more solid. Sturdier. So, he asks, "Who was it?" Then, "The person. You had sex with."

Zayn smirks. "Who says it was only one?"

Bloody Hell. Harry hadn't considered that. He must let his mouth drop, because Zayn closes it for him, the warm press of his fingers to Harry's chin. His teeth knock off one another but that isn't Zayn's fault. Zayn laughs. "Don't worry about it," he says, "doesn't matter."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

If kissing doesn't matter to Zayn and sex doesn't matter to Zayn, Harry wonders what does. He toys with the idea of asking Gemma − or Nick since Nick always has the answer but Gemma seems closer to Zayn, Harry often coming across them with their heads bowed together, talking about something like it is the most serious and important thing in the world, but only between the two of them − but can't get the words to sit the right way around in his head.

He thinks about asking RJ, who has known Zayn for six years. But chickens out last minute, scaring himself off with the idea that maybe he isn't meant to know.

Maybe he doesn't have that privilege. Because if Zayn wanted to tell him, maybe he would have by now.

That night, Harry throws his head down on the pillow and falls asleep before he's properly ready. He sleeps through until around 5am, when he wakes up hard against the sheets. It's like being fourteen all over again, but instead of the curve of Gemma's waist under his hands in his head, it's images of Zayn's wrist wrapped in Harry's fingers and their hips bumping together.

He makes the most undignified squawk as he falls from bed, managing to wake Nick in the process.

He offers him a sleep-thick, "Alright down there, Styles?" but he is asleep again before Harry can pick himself up and answer.

For the rest of the night, which thankfully isn't that long, Harry stays awake. Just so he can't dream about Zayn again.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

"You've spelt Dementor incorrectly nine times so far and I'm not halfway through," Gemma informs him. There's an ink stain from where she touched the nib of her quill to her mouth while she was thinking but Harry can't be bothered mentioning it. He stares at her blankly. Exasperated, she sighs and states, "If this is about you and Zayn, please sort it out because it's getting ridiculous at this point. I'm bored." Harry continues staring at her.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

It's a combination of lack of sleep, Gemma's insistence and the bloody unicorn incident replaying over and over in his head that eventually get Harry to break. In the middle of Potions. Which isn't the best place for it, admittedly, but it's been six weeks and Harry hasn't slept more than two hours a night and his library fines from drooling all over the books during his naps − they didn't wake him up when he fell asleep in there in first year and Gemma and Nick aren't doing it now they're in sixth year either − are starting to get to stupid amounts.

Zayn is in the middle of grinding iron down in the pestle and mortar, a finicky job he has been at for a while now, when Harry comes out with, "Louis thought it was me."

It earns him Zayn's complete attention, as blurting out things in the middle of class unexpectedly usually does, and Harry almost pushes his face away again, telling him 'no, no, ignore me actually, I am dumb' but he doesn't. He can't.

_He needs sleep._

"I told him I was a virgin but because I was next to you, the unicorn didn't approach me, and he said 'but you and Zayn'. Like he was surprised it wasn't you and me."

There.

He has said it. Well. Most of it, but it's a good start. Zayn wets his lips before he speaks, telling Harry, "Is it surprising?"

"I don't know. Louis seemed to think so."

"Louis is a bloody Gryffindor − most things that occur outside of their house are surprising to Gryffindors." It lacks the usual touch of disdain all Slytherins use when speaking about the red and gold house. He adds, "You know that means the entire house thinks we're a couple."

Harry shrugs.

"Doesn't bother me."

"Oh," is all Zayn gives him. He returns to grinding down the iron and Harry goes off to collect some peppermint from the ingredients cupboard. It's probably for the best he lets the conversation go.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

For the Patronus charm, they use a boggart, since getting an actual Dementor is a little difficult. Of course, since boggarts take the shape of whatever their victims worst fear is and trying to keep a happy, solid, safe image in their heads and keeping remember to think of a Dementor, not giant spiders or drowning or whatever it is they may be afraid of, a few students slip up.

Alexa accidentally makes the boggart turn into a flock of vicious crows, surrounding her like a demented, black whirlwind until she Riddikuluses her way out.

For Danny, it turns into a rabbit with blood dripping from its eyes and foamed spittle drooling of out of the corners of its mouth. When he sits down, shaken but recovering, Harry leans in and says, " _Watership Down_ ," and the look on Danny's face is the oddest combination of joyful, because someone finally understands, and terrified because that movie obviously still haunts him.

And with Greg it-

He is only up there for a second, maybe less. The boggart, all whispy cape and bony fingers pointing out from huge cuffs, flickers, all but disappearing at one point. To his left, their professor calls out, "Keep it solid, James," but the boggart is already forming into whatever Greg fears.

Someone behind him cries out, "Oh my God," as the boggart's form solidifies.

It's Gemma. Lying on the ground.

Dead.

Harry reaches his hand up to cover his mouth as he gasps, a little overdramatic perhaps but. Bloody Hell. He had no idea it was- That Greg was. . . She looks like that painting of Ophelia, the one his mum took him to see when he was seven because she felt he needed more culture in his life, all pale and open mouthed. Gemma's hair fans out around her, moving as if she lies in water, and her hand reaches up for Greg, long and greying, with the flesh half rotten from her ring finger.

The professor steps forwards, but Greg is already swallowing, his shoulder becoming straighter. The Riddikulus charm turns it into a mannequin and one of the hands reaching for Greg falls off at the wrist joint.

No one in the class speaks.

Once they are dismissed, Gemma slips out before Nick and Harry, following Greg towards the kitchens and the Hufflepuff dorms. She snags his cuff between her fingers once they're far enough away from everyone else, the chatter − most likely gossip and hushed whispers about what just happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts − echoing up from the adjoining corridor.

"Hey," she says, hand properly around his wrist.

Greg can't bring himself to look at her.

"It's alright," she continues, trying again. Still he stares down at the ground. "We all make mistakes."

He sounds out a laugh but it's hollow. "I thought I had it," he explains. Gemma opens her mouth to speak but can't think of anything to say beyond 'it's alright' and that feels redundant. "You would have had it."

"Maybe," she intones, neither mocking nor affirming. "You have a killer Riddikulus charm on you, though," she says, immediately regretting her choice of words. She whispers out a light, "Sorry." And finally finally _finally_ Greg turns and looks at her.

He says, "It's alright."

Greg pushes his hand into hers, and Gemma tangles her fingers with his. They stand like that, about a foot apart and just holding hands somewhere in between them, silent and breathing for the longest time. But it's ok like that; Greg looks at her looking at him after he has revealed − to the entire year group − his worst fear is seeing Gemma dead. Neither of them need to say anything.

Voices start approaching from further down the corridor.

They should probably move. At least out of the centre of the space, but Gemma stops Greg before he can take the first step. "I love you," she says, bright and honest, a hint of vulnerability tucked in there as well. "You know that, right?"

"Course," he returns. "You too."

A cluster of first and second year Hufflepuffs stomp passed them, one blonde kid with large green eyes stopping as he recognises them. He asks, "You two ok?"

Greg nods for both of them. "Yeah, we're good." Gemma squeezes his hand.

The students pass on and into the dormitories a little further around the corner and once more, Greg and Gemma are left alone in the hall. He asks her, everything silent around them again, "D'ya wanna see the common room?" She smiles at him brightly. "But you have to promise not to tell anyone the password."

"You knock 'Helga Hufflepuff' on the barrels," she answers.

Greg looks impressed.

Swatting him away, Gemma states, "I worked it out in third year, but I didn't feel like washing vinegar out of my hair."

"Don't worry," he replies, pulling her back in, just needing to touch her for a little longer, "if you're with me, the booby traps won't bother you."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

"Where are the others?" Zayn asks.

Harry could go into a long winded explanation about Nick being in America with RJ's family while Louis is in Doncaster, complaining in his thrice-weekly letters about how awful the other two are for leaving him out and how his sisters are driving him up the wall, and that Gemma is away this weekend at Greg's sister's wedding − so far, the photos Harry has seen on Greg's Facebook have been adorable and he sort of wants to show Zayn but having to explain what a computer, the internet and Facebook are feels like too much work (friends who take Muggle Studies or are partially muggle born themselves like Greg are so much easier but, no, Zayn is the one Harry decided to invite over) − feels too complicated to be bothered with in the humidity.

So, because it is July 24th and Harry is feeling deliciously lazy as he wanders through Holmes Chapel with a smoothie and Zayn, he says, "Not here."

"Why?"

God, Zayn is all questions today. (The forty minutes in the shop explaining the different forms of coin in British muggle money was Harry's limit. Now Zayn's just being an ass.) "Because I felt like having just you over."

"Oh." Then, "Do you mean that."

Harry frowns, confused. "Yeah," he answers, "course."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Gemma receiving her Head Girl badge in the post comes as a shock to no one. Even Louis looks vaguely impressed when they all meet up in London a weekend before school starts back and Gemma proudly shows them the badge.

"She's kept the damn thing in her pocket since she got it," Nick announces, but there's a strong look of pride on his face as he says it countering his annoyance.

"Do you know who Head Boy is?" Zayn asks. He received his own Slytherin prefect badge from Hogwarts around the same time Gemma got hers but there was no mention of who else got prefect posts. When she shakes her head, Zayn adds, "I'm surprised it isn't Nick."

Flattening his palm to his chest, Nick dramatically sighs, "In my heart, I am."

It turns out the new Head Boy is a Gryffindor and Louis wears a smile so smug, like he knew all along and just wasn't telling anyone, when Professor McGonagall announces it, Harry wonders if Nick will bring back his fourth year threat and push Louis in the lake. His name is Ben Winston and side by side, he and Gemma make a striking pair; Gemma, all cheekbones and dark hair, still a girl with her freckles but holding herself like her mother does, elegant and proud; and Ben, tall and broad shoulders, seventeen but already the beginnings of a neat beard and moustache, a proper mane for a proud lion.

Harry isn't too sure where they found him − his best guess is a genetics lab, where he was perfectly crafted to be Gemma's Gryffindor equal − but it's difficult to deny how well they match up.

The two are ushered back to their seats once the Sorting is complete and the Headmistress takes the podium again to inform the students of further business.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

"We're sitting our N. E. W. Ts this summer," Nick huffs, taking the stairs two by two. "Can they really do this? And didn't someone die last time they tried to revive it?"

"Cedric Diggory," Gemma supplies, "but he didn't die because of the Triwizard Tournament, only during it. And anyway," she continues, as Harry says the password and they all pile into the common room, "nobody says you have to go − the Triwizard Tournament is open to anyone who wishes to take part. You _can_ stay here if you so wish."

Harry takes a couch, tossing his bag on the floor.

"I think I'm going to go for it," he says.

Gemma and Nick turn to him like they've only remembered he was there at all. That tends to happen a lot when they argue like this. He gives him a nod, "Yeah. Why not?"

"You could die," Nick helpfully tells him.

Gemma shoves him into the arm of the couch, shaking her head. "Good for you, Harry. Ignore Captain Pessimism over here."

Nick starts up again with, "I'm only saying, we have important, life deciding exams at the end of this year and they're shipping us off to France to compete for some cup that won't mean anything when we're all jobless and broke, hooking on Knockturn Alley."

Harry tells him, "You really are such a joy." And Gemma gives up.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Beauxbatons is beautiful, like something straight out of a fairytale. Harry stands with mouth hanging open like a right knob, in the centre of the entrance hall, trying to count nymphs as they flit passed. Next to him, someone bows to Gemma and says, "Miss Arterton, if you'd care to follow me." She takes the first step and the rest of the seventh years follow along behind their Head Boy and Head Girl.

The Hogwarts students are shown into a wing. The walls are pale blue, with white stucco work along the crowning. Harry counts another three nymphs in the area, his eyes following behind a purple skinned one before he realises the rest of the group have moved on and he has to dash to catch up with them.

"There are eight room with enough beds for all of you," their guide explains in heavily accented English.

The breakdown should be by houses and gender but of course that isn't what happens.

Harry takes the bed next to Nick's, helping him lift his trunk onto the bed. It feels like he has an entire library in there; knowing Nick, he probably does have an entire library in there. Behind him, Zayn opens his own trunk and starts carefully unpacking shirts.

"It's nice here," he says.

Nick huffs, his pile of books already close to toppling. He moves to start a new pile, distributing the weight out better. Zayn replies, "Yeah. S'pretty."

When Gemma enters the room, sweater off and tie hanging loose around her neck, she claims the bed opposite her step-brother's. She casts a glance over at Nick's books but keeps quiet. They're starting to resemble less a set of piles and more of a wall, a barracks around the end of his bed. ( ~~Someone is going to topple it before the night is over.~~ Louis is going to topple it before the night is over.)

There's a cough as Harry is helping Zayn find enough hangers for his shirts − "Did you really need this many?" "If Nick can bring enough books to build a fortress, I can have twenty shirts in my luggage, Styles." − and everyone turns around to find Ben standing there.

He motions towards the bed next to Gemma. Her robes are tossed across it currently and she doesn't make any move to remove them for him. "Mind if I join you?" he asks.

They all wait for Gemma to answer.

She still doesn't move her robes, but she gives him a curt nod and says, "Sure. Welcome."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Madam Maxime reads out, "Hogwarts Champion, Zayn Malik."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Ben tells them, "I hear it's red caps," then adding the caveat, "but I could be wrong."

Gemma raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, doesn't ask where he heard this. Harry is the only one to say anything to Ben, a brief 'thank you' as Nick dives towards his vast array of books and plucks out the one he needs. He fires it in Zayn's direction with such enthusiasm, he almost smacks him in the face with it but Zayn catches it.

Good reflexes, Harry notes to himself, those will come in handy.

At the opening ceremony, before the three champions went off to the ritual weighing of their wands, Madam Maxime had announced to the hall, "If you are chosen, you stand alone in this tournament." But Harry can't imagine one of them − Zayn, Louis, RJ, _anyone_ − doing it without help from the others.

Ben hovers next to his bed. After a moment of watching him, Gemma asks, "Know anything particular about red caps?"

"Other than what we learnt in third year, not really," he answers with a shrug.

She pats the spot on the bed beside her all the same.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

Harry is the first one into the room, bustling passed Danny and RJ with his elbows.

In front of him, in the middle of the bed, Zayn's eye has swollen shut and his lip is split. When the red cap brought the bone-club down on him, everyone in the arena recoiled back at the sharp snap. Bone on bone. But Zayn kept going.

Harry sits down on the edge of the bed, smiling at Zayn. His face moves, like he's trying to smile back, but Harry shakes his head. Everything about his face looks painful.

"Don't," he soothes.

"Alright there, handsome?" RJ asks. He steps in behind Harry, Danny tucking himself in but with the curtain around the bed, the others don't fit into the space. They just about manage to stick their heads around the edge of the material to see him. "I have to say, purple really is your colour."

Zayn moves as if he's about to speak. Blood has dried on his chin, the layer of it breaking as he moves but once again, Harry says, "Don't."

"You'll be fine by the Yule Ball," Danny adds.

When the nurse comes along, she bustles through them and huffs a lot, obviously bothered by the lot of them standing around the hospital wing. Diplomatically, Nick says, "We should probably go," but Gemma throws out:

"One of us should stay. So you aren't on your own." 

Since Harry is already on the bed, it makes the most sense for him to stay. The others file out one by one, Gemma coming in and squeezing Zayn's hand, softly telling him, "I'll come see you tomorrow." Zayn squeezes her hand back, nodding but keeping his face still. Harry can tell he wants to smile, but everything is otherwise swollen too badly or hurts too much. He gives Gemma a smile for him as she leaves, then settles crosslegged on the bed beside Zayn's knees.

Professor McGonagall drops in for a short visit before dinner. She doesn't seem all that surprised to see Harry.

As she leaves, after a quick chat with the Beauxbatons nurse, she tells them, "I'll have someone send food down for you."

Unfortunately, because of his face Zayn just has to watch Harry eating while he sits there in pain, unmoving. Taking a large bite out of the pastry served for dessert, cream sputters out over Harry's hand and fingers. Chewing the mouthful he already has, he stares at it; when he looks up, Zayn is staring too.

"Uh," he says, still considering the idea but his hand is heading towards Zayn's face. "I s'pose a little cream won't hurt."

Zayn's tongue is hot and wet against his skin, taking Harry by surprise. He pushes it out of his mouth along with some saliva, the fluid a little pink from blood and should Harry tell someone that Zayn is possibly still bleeding inside his mouth and is he taking advantage of a situation right now and- When Harry got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts and he had bounced on the couch with his sister for a solid hour before his mum could calm them both down, he had never imagined he would be seventeen years old and getting cream licked from his fingers by another student. Christ. He doesn't even know where to look.

Zayn pushes Harry's finger out of his mouth with his tongue and the smallest (yet most obscene) pop of his mouth.

"Right."

It's probably the pain medication they've given him.

Silence fills up the space between them, Harry slowly remembering how to breathe and Zayn settling back into the pillows. If his eye wasn't so badly bruised and his mouth more able to move, Harry knows he would be smirking at him.

Harry takes a breath and asks, "What's the deal with the stick you had to get?"

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

It's a cryptex. Zayn has until the new year to solve it, which feels like months away, but Nick tuts and shakes his head when Harry brings it into the bedroom − "The nurse says he'll be back in a week." − and drops it on the bed. "Give it here," he orders. Louis hands it over. With a knowledgeable noise, Nick explains, "It's the clue for the next task. But to solve it, we need to the code word."

His fingers twist is around and around, various letter keys clicking off one another.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

At first, they try everything, starting with four letter words and slowly graduating to words with five letters. But as December gets closer and closer and the bruising in Zayn's face goes down, a suddenly swell in interest between the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students towards the Hogwarts champion reminds everyone that the Yule Ball is approaching.

Danny is the first person to get a date, asking Antonia as far back as October.

Sophie asks RJ close to Halloween, slipping into the seat next to him while Harry's trying to unlock the cryptex stick with the word 'apple'. It doesn't do anything but RJ says yes, so at least something good came out of the five minutes of Harry's life.

Throughout the tournament, in between study sessions and dinners in the grand banquet hall of Beauxbatons and hanging out blocking corridors so students have to begrudgingly ask them to move their legs for them to get passed, Gemma and Ben have put up a united front. A Slytherin champion representing the school, supported by a Gryffindor Head Boy and a Ravenclaw Head Girl − it really is a proper display of interhouse unity, one their headmistress beams at whenever she sees them together. Harry would even go as far as saying that Ben and Gemma are friends, loosely. At least, they enjoy one another's company and get along for more than just political reasons.

So, when the Gryffindors pull the most underhanded, mean trick Harry believes they could ever have, even Gemma is taken aback.

It is brilliant, truly, she has to give them that.

But her face only slips for a moment as a Durmstrang student, after asking her to be his date, informs her, "But your boyfriend is taking someone else to the Yule Ball." She declines his offer anyway.

The thing is, Greg can't say no. Because, somewhere inside of Greg, always bubbling away, is the idea that if he says no, he will truly offend the other person. And maybe this girl did want to go with Greg to the Yule Ball, Gemma can't be sure how much of a pawn she is within this whole thing, but whatever the case may be, she would have known Greg wasn't going to say no. God. Gemma can't even be mad − the Gryffindors played it beautifully. And Greg is too nice for his own bloody good sometimes.

Of course, the underhanded sneaky part of the whole thing is over. Once Greg said yes to Fearne's request and the news of it had trickled down through the other students and to Gemma, the rest of it plays out in a stupidly obvious fashion.

She tells Ben when he asks her to the Yule Ball, "You know if you'd asked me before you sent someone else to distract Greg, I might have said yes."

Ben's face falls. "Really?"

"Guess we'll never know," she replies.

Like everything else in her life, Gemma plays this off coolly and logically, never once showing a moment of upset or emotion about it. She even continues to sit with Ben, even says, "You don't need to move out," when he goes to pack his bags and leave the makeshift dormitory. (Which surprises everyone, including Louis, who genuinely had no idea anyone in his house was even considering doing that to her, just to make sure the Head Boy and Head Girl of Hogwarts attended the Yule Ball together.) But, to Harry at least, it makes her look _too cold_ , almost. Like Greg going with someone else really doesn't bother her.

He asks Zayn about it, leaning in and letting his breath ghost over Zayn's neck while he's trying out more words in the cryptex. He jolts and Harry pulls back, eyes wide and ridiculous like some sort of wounded animal.

"What?" he asks, placing the gold branch down on the table.

Harry sighs, hating to repeat himself when he's trying to keep the conversation quiet. "I said, don't you think it's weird Gemma hasn't got upset about the Yule Ball." Zayn frowns. Harry cocks his head towards the others further up the table, Greg's arm around the back of Gemma's chair as his finger traces the hem of her sweater along her shoulder.

Zayn says, "They seem fine." Then adds, "I'm sure they've talked about it."

"But it's the Yule Ball," Harry insists. "I think Gemma would have liked to go with him."

"Probably. But now she isn't and she's handling it like a grown up."

Harry frowns. Was that a stab at him? He feels like it was a stab at him. "Anyway," Zayn continues, turning his focus back to the cryptex, "if you're so worried about Gemma and the Yule Ball, why don't you take her? Or, if you have a date, I will."

"You don't have a date yet?"

"Nope. Been a bit busy, haven't I?" Harry stares at the cryptex. "Do _you_ have a date to it yet?"

With all his worrying about Gemma, trying to goad her into showing emotions, and listening to Nick tactfully tell Louis and RJ that they shouldn't go with each other because that's not fair to the rest of the student body (although Harry knows it is because Nick still can't pick between them and is also a little scared they'll pick one another as dates and leave him out) the cryptex and waiting for Zayn's face to properly heal up, Harry has been a bit too preoccupied to think about the Yule Ball for himself. He stammers out, "Oh. No."

"So," Zayn sounds out, looking up again when his next word fails, "do you want to take Gemma or will I?"

"I think Nick's taking her," Harry answers, lamely.

Zayn sniffs, lazily spinning letters underneath his fingers. "Guess that leaves us going together then."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

"Stop it," Gemma orders, tugging the knot of his bowtie tight enough to stop Harry's breath in his throat. He stares at her, almost frantic with it when she doesn't loosen it straight away. "Are you going to stop fidgeting and let me tie it?" she snips, undoing the knot for a fourth time and starting the whole process again.

Harry nods, careful not to disrupt her, and steadies himself with a hand on her hip.

He traces patterns over the silken material, pressing it between his fingertips and pushing them into the curve of her. In front of him, her hair tickles his nose − they have both recently grown another few inches, but still Harry remains about three or so inches taller than her − as she curses softly under her breath and changes the angle of the knot, looping the left over the right; Harry is completely blameless this time but he finds himself holding his breath, just in case.

"There," she barks, triumphant.

Gemma steps back and Harry lets the blue skirt of her robes slip from his fingers. With her hands solidly cupped around his shoulders, she turns him to face the mirror, nails digging into the dark charcoal wool he's wearing.

Now. It's not that Harry has ever worried before if he's attractive or not. He knows he's only ever going to have one face, so he makes the best of what he has. He has a good smile, he knows that much, but the rest − he can take it or leave it, like his hair and his nose. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't and Harry accepts that. But tonight, all his features and _most_ parts of his hair have decided to work together. He looks- Maybe it's the dress robes or whatever Gemma was muttering when she was tying his bowtie. Or maybe it's just the fact it's the bloody Yule Ball and Harry is going with Zayn and-

She leans in, the warm of her front pressed to the line of Harry's back, and into his cheek, Gemma tells him, "You look great."

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

When Gemma says, "Oh, Christ. I think I'm going to throw up," Harry knows it's time to put her to bed. With Nick on one side of her, grabbing her shoes and her bag, and Harry on the other, Gemma's arm around his shoulders and her head tucked into the crook of his neck, they manage to get her out of the hall and into an empty corridor before she throws up into a plant. It's largely liquid, a mix of fire whiskey from RJ and whatever rum Nick was adding to her cup when she wasn't looking, and it makes a loud splash against the trunk.

Harry grimaces. He has never been great with people throwing up around him. But this is Gemma. She tied his bowtie for him, so if she needs someone to rub her back while she shivers and begins to cry, then Harry is going to be that someone.

He hoists her back up when she's finished, catching his arm under her leg and carrying her bridal style the rest of the way back. Nick gets the door, making sure the train of Gemma's robes don't trip anyone up. 

"I'll go get some water," he says, as Harry is unhooking Gemma's arm from his shoulders and placing her down on her bed. He doesn't really mean to lie down with her but somewhere in the scuffle − "Have you grown extra limbs?" "I'm so sorry." "It's fine." "I'm sorry. I should apologise to Zayn." "Gem, stop, it's fine. Just lie down." − to get her comfortable, Harry ends up lying half on top of her. And once he's down, he can't really be bothered getting up. From the doorway, Nick laughs, "Any room for me on there?"

Gemma sticks out her arm for her step-brother, slurring at him, "There's loads of room."

It's a bit awkward at first, Gemma's hip pushing into Harry as she shifts over, Nick getting onto the bed knees first. But Harry manages to get an arm under Gemma's shoulders, making sure his ring doesn't catch in her hair where it has fallen out of her bun, and Nick settles in front of her, his lips pressing against her forehead in a short kiss that makes Harry hum, enjoying the sweetness of the moment between them.

"You ok?" Nick asks.

Harry realises he's talking to him, not his step-sister, when Nick prods him in the leg with his bony fingers.

"Yeah, yeah," he pushes out. "Zayn will understand."

Nick says, "You can go back after this one's asleep. You really don't have to stay." The way Gemma is leaning on his arm would suggest otherwise but Harry smiles, appreciating Nick's words.

Somewhere in the middle of them, Gemma remarks, "I am still here you know."

"How could we forget? You smell like a brewery," Nick notifies her. 

Gemma's elbow ricochets back into Harry's stomach after she punches Nick in the ribs, successfully winding them both. With delight and victory in her voice, she says, "You two were the ones who thought I needed to lighten up. It's your fault I smell." Harry has to admit, she has a point.

With his hand pressing into Nick, pushing him back down to the bed before he can argue with her, Harry says, "Alright, alright. Sleep. Both of you."

To be honest, he doesn't really want to go back to the Yule Ball. Being Zayn's friend-date was fun up to a point, but now that he is here, lying on Gemma's bed with the two of them − three little Ravenclaws, a mixture of drunk and sleepy, all squashed up on the mattress together − Harry doesn't really want to be anywhere else.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

"Try 'potion'."

"Why?" Zayn asks.

Louis sighs in a way Harry is pretty positive he learnt from Nick (who probably copied it from Gemma before then). "Just try it."

The cryptex clicks open. Zayn looks amazed, slowly unravelling out the parchment inside it. "How did you work that out?"

With a shrug, Louis answers, "It was the next six letter p word on the list and you wouldn't let me put it in for you." Harry thinks Louis might be more brilliant than any of them have ever given him credit for. And that includes Nick and RJ.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The next task involves a bog terrain, a selkie, a few demented augereys and some rules Harry doesn't really understand but none of that matters when the Beauxbatons champion emerges from the course with kelp weed stuck in his hair and mud smeared all over his left flank. Then, when Zayn comes out as the champion with the quickest time, the only thing that matters is Zayn and Harry flings himself at him, suddenly winded when Ben and RJ throw themselves into the congratulatory hug as well.

They haven't really spoken since the Yule Ball.

A fact Harry only remembers when the other two pull off and Professor McGonagall comes over to congratulate Zayn on his excellent use of the Defensive charm, but she adds, "Although I'm sure the Hogwarts curriculum discourages the use of them. But well done, again."

Zayn sends a sheepish look over at Harry. Who blushes back at him for God only knows why.

By the time everyone else filters out of the tent after giving Zayn various levels and words of praise, Zayn's shirt is off and Harry is having a hard time looking anywhere but at his collarbones. "Can-" he starts, but Zayn misses it and it wasn't how Harry wanted to begin anyway. The second time, he tries louder and goes with, "I just want to say I'm sorry about the Yule Ball. Gemma was sick and Nick couldn't handle it." Zayn has turned around by now, but Harry is staring off at the floor. "Anyway, you looked like you didn't really need me there anymore." He's not sure why he says it but it comes out of his mouth all the same.

"Yeah," Zayn nods, then repeats the word another three times. Harry lifts his head to look at him, surprised to find him looking sort of annoyed. "It's great when you're date abandons you to put a girl to bed and never comes back."

Harry feels his defences rising.

"When I left, you were flirting with a girl from Durmstrang."

"My dad works with her dad," Zayn counters. Harry doesn't think it's that great an excuse but Zayn seems so earnest. "I wasn't flirting with her. And I was still at the table, I didn't wander off and climb into bed with two other people."

Harry retorts, "Nick and Gemma, not some strangers."

He's not really sure what they're arguing about. But Zayn seems more upset about it than Harry really was to begin with and now- Now they're rowing about the Yule Ball while Zayn is standing there, topless with a piece of reed stuck behind his ear and Harry has never felt so ridiculous in his whole life. He could keep going, get properly mad and yell at Zayn because Zayn is mad, because Harry never knows where he stands with Zayn and if Zayn thinks getting mad and yelling at him about something he did − he was a good friend, Gemma needed him − then Harry can give as good as he gets. But there's something there. Something in between the reed caught on his ear and the delicate, almost vulnerable way his bare chest moves when he breathes that stops Harry and makes him say, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that it was such a big deal to you that I left. You should have said something."

"I-"

"You always seem like you just. Don't care. Like things don't really matter."

Harry thinks of Gemma and how she made the Yule Ball not matter; he thinks of Nick making the fact he kissed Louis while dating RJ not matter; he thinks of Zayn, age fourteen, telling him things only matter if you make them matter.

Zayn replies, "You matter." He seems as shocked to have said it as Harry does hearing it. Quickly, he recovers, backtracking a little, "They all matter. But you do too. To me."

Maybe that red cap bone-club to the head from the first task did something funny to Zayn. Harry starts to panic inwardly. He has no idea what to say or do − even finding a place to put his hands throws him, arms folded looks too defensive and standoffish, but he feels the need to clench his hands into fist when they hang by his sides, just to hide how sweaty his palms are.

"This probably isn't the best time."

"No. I mean." Harry has no bloody idea _what_ he means. "You should put your shirt on. And then we should get some food."

Zayn nods, silent.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

They don't talk about it again. Not when Zayn has the final task to prepare for and Nick is insisting everyone needs to start studying more. It's probably a good thing, if Harry really thinks about it. A good distraction, buckling down and getting some proper work done for the N. E. W. Ts. After all, he has spent the last three years distracted by people kissing and people dating and who likes who. This is all for the best, Harry reasons.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The Beauxbatons champion is the first one out of the tournament. He steps out of the course, holding his arm, the flesh torn clean open and blood staining his fingers, dripping onto the ground with every step. He manages another few steps before stumbling completely over. He hits the ground with a thump, letting go of his wounded arm to reveal it is practically hanging off. There is bone on show, yes, that is definitely bone; Harry is going to be sick.

Even RJ, who had previously admitted to Harry, "I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire because watching people suffer for glory is not something I want to miss by being one the people suffering," looks horrified. His nails scuff the grey material of his trousers as he scrabbles for Louis' hand.

Behind her fingers, Gemma's repeating a tiny chorus of, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

Harry shoves himself behind her and into Nick's space to ask, "Are manticores legal?"

"Probably not," Nick supplies.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

In the end, Zayn doesn't win the task and Hogwarts doesn't win the Triwizard cup but Zayn doesn't have his arm torn to shreds by a pregnant manticore, so that has to count for something.

The seventh years get back to Hogwarts in the early hours of the morning, stumbling through the halls like zombies. Louis trips onto the first stair, his eyes closed even as he frowns, grumbling in annoyance, but Nick tucks him into his side and guides him the rest of the way up the flight. A few steps ahead of them, Gemma and Greg hold hands, speaking back and forth to one another in sleepy whispers − Harry, one eye shutting itself as he walks along, thinks it's all a bit adorable and wonders if anyone would like to hold his hand and give him a cuddle because he's feeling left out.

He turns to say this to Zayn, but he's already gone. Gone off to the Slytherin dormitories down by the dungeons, the complete opposite end of the school to the Ravenclaw tower.

The next time he sees Zayn, he's standing in the middle of a group of fifth and sixth year Slytherins. A couple of them stare at him like he is some sort of god. Harry supposes he would too, if he didn't know Zayn − Hogwarts champion is nothing to be sniffed at, even if he didn't win. (Also, his cheekbones. There should a shrine dedicated to those, Harry thinks.)

He catches him on the way to the library after almost a full week of not speaking to each other. Harry knows it isn't on purpose from his end but he's not so sure about Zayn.

"Well done," he calls out. Zayn stops at the sound of his voice, causing Harry to crash into his back. Harry recovers himself as quickly as he can, brushing imaginary crumbs off Zayn's back. "I didn't get to say it before," he carries on, "but you did great."

Zayn smiles. "Thanks."

They fall into step and in the library they take a table near the back, away from the second years loudly trying to finish up last minute essays. "That means a lot," Zayn says. Harry stares at him blankly for a moment, until his brain catches up. "Coming from you." He takes out his Care of Magical Creatures notes, arranging them neatly in front of him while Harry fiddles with the spine of his Ancient Runes text book. Zayn sighs.

He says, "You know you're right. I am difficult to read. Or something. And I'm sorry if I made you feel like it was just a friendly thing or. Whatever. But I like you, and you mean a lot. I guess I should have told you before now but. I didn't."

The library. After four years of tugging at Harry's tie, complaining he's too much of a Ravenclaw and he needs to step out of here once in a while, Zayn picks the library to tell Harry this. He doesn't mean to laugh, not really, but it comes out of his mouth before he can catch it. It makes Zayn frown. "I'm sorry," he apologises swiftly. "I didn't mean to." He's still laughing, just a bit, but Zayn's face is lightening up. "You just caught me by surprise."

"That's all?"

Harry nods. "Yeah. That's all."

Underneath the desk, Harry bumps their knees together but before he can move his leg away again, Zayn's hand cups over it. "Hogsmeade this weekend?" he whispers. "I'll buy you a butterbeer."

"Best in town," Harry agrees.

 

 

\+ + +

 

 

The boat rocks as Harry steps in but Zayn grabs his hand before he can properly topple. In front of him, Gemma sighs but looks at him with eyes so fond it's all Harry can do to wrinkle his nose at her as he smiles. Nick says, "C'mon, Styles," his knees squished in between Louis and RJ's legs. Zayn follows Harry into the boat as he steps in, their thighs bashing together awkwardly as they go for the same seat.

Hagrid pushes the boat out onto the lake.

At the prow of it, the lantern glows in the dark, following along after all the other glowing lanterns on all the other boats. There's something breathtaking and heartbreaking about the whole thing, Harry can't tell if he's crying because it's so beautiful or because it's so sad.

"Y'alright?" asks Zayn.

He whispers it, not drawing anyone else's attention to Harry's state − even though Louis appears to be crying as well, and Danny is definitely struggling to keep it together on Zayn's right − and Harry turns to face him with a small as a tear rolls down his cheek. He shifts against him, tilting into his space, and Zayn gets an arm around him, elbow on the side of the boat as he lets his fingers trace along the surface of the water, barely breaking it.

Somewhere down, deep underneath, there's a giant squid and a colony of merpeople.

Harry sighs, happy and sad and quiet all at once, and replies, "Yeah. Just gonna miss the place."

When Zayn kisses him, he wipes away a tear from under Harry's eye before pressing their lips together. He does it with such force, the boat tilts with it, rocking back and forth for a moment before settling again and all around them the others groan out variations of 'don't tip the boat over, Malik' and 'trust Styles to be the one to knock us all into the lake'. But Harry can't bring himself to care. (He appreciates their gestures though because, in an odd way, it shows they care.)

 

 

_F I N ._


End file.
